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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028368">Dial "H" for Hatchetfield</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDancingRat/pseuds/LittleDancingRat'>LittleDancingRat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Multi, beware this will have some dark themes, gore and all that, graphic descriptions of death, just know what you're getting into</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:00:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDancingRat/pseuds/LittleDancingRat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is the morning Hatchetfield news with Dan and Donna!”<br/>“Breaking news! As of this morning it is reported that there is yet another fatal mugging in Hatchetfield. Beloved Grace Chastity was found this morning, stabbed to death in an alleyway on South Clydesdale street,chunks of flesh missing from the face. Cops say she was barely recognizable.”<br/>“After further investigation and an autopsy report, the incident was ruled as a brutal mugging without the intent to kill, but ended in a fatality. As of right now there are no leads, no witnesses, and no obvious suspects.”<br/>“All of our love goes out to Grace Chastity’s family and friends who are no doubt devastated by the news. Stay safe citizens of Hatchetfield.”<br/>“And talk about gloomy news, a brooding goose has taken forty seven babies under her wing-!”<br/>Paul clicked the off button on his remote.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Carol Davidson/Mr. Davidson, Charlotte/Sam (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Gary Goldstein/Man in a Hurry, Lex Foster/Ethan Green, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Grace Chastity is a Nerdy Prude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[edited 10/20/2020:: fixed spelling errors, present tense, details]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is the morning Hatchetfield news with Dan and Donna!”</p><p>“Breaking news! As of this morning it is reported that there is yet another fatal mugging in Hatchetfield. Beloved Grace Chastity was found this morning, stabbed to death in an alleyway on South Clydesdale street, chunks of flesh missing from the face. Cops say she was barely recognizable.”</p><p>“After further investigation and an autopsy report, the incident was ruled as a brutal mugging without the intent to kill, but ended in a fatality. As of right now there are no leads, no witnesses, and no obvious suspects.”</p><p>“All of our love goes out to Grace Chastity’s family and friends who are no doubt devastated by the news. Stay safe citizens of Hatchetfield.”</p><p>“And talk about gloomy news, a brooding goose has taken forty seven babies under her wing-!”</p><p>Paul clicks the off button on his remote, tightening a tie around his neck and fixing his wrinkled clothes so he looks presentable. The news is just being used as background noise, there was never anything of interest. Murders, burglaries, it wasn’t of any importance to him, things like that just happened sometimes. He hears the coffee pot go off from his kitchen (well that was being generous, his kitchen and living room were practically the same room.) He hurriedly walks over and pours himself a small cup of coffee into a plastic cup. There is no time for anything more. To save his sanity he drinks about half the cup before continuing on. </p><p>The night before had been nightmarish, his sleep was plagued with dreams of close friends dying in horrible ways and a whole lot of singing and dancing, which was terrifying on its own. It had all been so clear and put together when he woke up, a sense of dread and an un-nameable fear crawling its way up his stomach, but now he can’t remember it. Not even bits and pieces. All he could remember was how he felt, and that alone made his first stop that morning: on the floor of his bathroom, curled over a toilet.</p><p>The time is nearly 8:00 am, Paul is pushing his luck with his boss. Showing up to work late for the third time this week might actually get him fired. Mr. Davidson was lenient enough towards Paul. Were it Ted or anyone else he might’ve told them to pack up their desk already but with Paul, well he’d worked there most of his adult life and he’d shown his loyalty to the company. Not to mention Mr. Davidson actually liked him. Well he liked everyone, the man was too sweet for his own good. You could read the man like an open book, he wore his heart on his sleeve and while Paul didn’t feel the same way, he appreciated the man. Not every person in the office would come up and ask you how things were, or would notice small changes in mannerisms and ritual. One time Ted came into work and went straight to his desk, only grabbing coffee on his break. Mr. Davidson picked up on it immediately and called him into his office, turns out Ted was having relationship problems with Charlotte again so he listened to everything Ted had to say. Sometimes he’d call Paul up to his office just to bullshit and that always took the edge off when there was a specifically large workload that day. So yeah, Mr. Davidson is a great guy. He also knows everyone's gossip. </p><p>Paul finally walks out the door of his apartment, throwing on a plain old black coat and heading down his building's stairs. The sound of loud music comes from one of his neighbors' doors and he cringes; the last thing he wants to hear today is Les Miz or anything close to it. Silence on its own sounded amazing. As he exits his building, the sound of cars and traffic fill his senses, other people hurriedly running off to work, no doubt, just as late as him. </p><p>Usually, Paul would just walk to work but seeing as how he was already twenty minutes behind he figured it’d be best to just take a car. He also felt more uncomfortable than usual being around all these people who he swears he’s seen before. No, he knows he’s seen them before. But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it despite knowing he’s being irrational and when another man slams into him and scowls muttering about being in a hurry, leaving Paul staring after a blur of long, messy hair he decides it's time to get in his car and leave. Paul could’ve cried looking down at his coffee spilled all over the concrete.</p><p> </p><p>Coming into work was odd, he felt safe here on any other given day but for some reason today everyone was in a panic and almost everyone's desks were empty. The ear-shattering phones going all day off the hook was something he’d learned to find solace in, and now that it was gone he just felt grim. Paul was taken aback at the state of the office but was shaken out of it when Ted came sauntering out of the bathroom. </p><p>“Ted!” He perked up at the sight of Paul, an odd sense of relief filling both of them. They weren’t the greatest of friends, coworkers he should say, but they had a sort of love-hate relationship going on and despite everything Paul genuinely liked Ted. </p><p>“So you finally decided to show up for work, huh?” Ted strode over to him and surprised Paul by pulling him into a hug. </p><p>He froze up before cautiously hugging back, he didn’t deny that it felt nice. When he pulled back Paul furrowed his brows, “what was that for?”</p><p>Ted stared back for a moment too long before rushing to defend himself and acting more spastic than usual, “oh you know, it’s just uh-” he looked around and scratched the back of his neck, “-just feels like it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you is all.”</p><p>Paul smiled unsure, “yeah.” <em> The last time I saw you, you had a bullet hole the size of a plate in your stomach</em>. He almost throws up at the thought, it was definitely a strange one but his nightmare was very vivid. Yeah, that’s all it was: a nightmare. They both looked at one another, the air between them stiff. </p><p>Ted cleared his throat and within a matter of seconds he was back to cocky arrogant Ted, it was impressive, really. Ted should’ve been an actor. “So you get here late cause of that lil’ barista? Huh? Can’t keep away from her for one minute, just HAD to stop by and make yourself late for work. I gotta say, you do put a lot of work in for her, I respect that.” He smiles at Paul with a shit eating grin.</p><p>Paul flushes, sputtering for words, “I did <em> not </em> stop by Beanie’s this morning! I just woke up late,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Sure pal, and I had drinks over at Brad Pitt's private mansion last night.”</p><p>“But, doesn’t he live somewhere in Los Angeles or something?”</p><p>“My point exactly.”</p><p>Paul processed for a moment, then shook his head. “Listen Ted, what’s going on in here? Where is everyone?” </p><p>He shrugged and pointed towards the furthest corner of the building where a small group of people were huddled together near Paul's desk. “You know that chick who got killed this morning?” He sips his coffee.</p><p>“Uh, sure?”</p><p>“Well Bill’s really shaken up about it for some reason, couldn’t tell you why.” Ted looks behind them, leaning in closer to Paul, “everyone's acting really shifty in here lately, I bet you one of them killed her.” Paul shoves him back while Ted cackles.</p><p>“Shut up Ted.” It shouldn't be as big of a surprise as it is that Ted would joke about something like that - then again it's <em>Ted.</em> But you'd think he'd at least have the common knowledge of social cues.</p><p>“Oh don’t act like I’m a bad guy, it was a joke,” Ted rolls his eyes and goes about his business, ambling over to his own desk.</p><p>Paul sighs, shaking his head. He liked Ted, but not enough. His attention is taken over to the small group of who he assumed was Bill, Charlotte and probably Melissa seeing as how nobody else in the office had bright ember hair. He sighs again, this is too much already. Paul just wants to go back home and watch Law and Order or something, not deal with all these… <em> people </em>problems. He starts walking towards the group, catching eyes with Charlotte who gives a small stressed smile.</p><p>Charlotte was another person too sweet for her own good, it was a surprise she’d go for such a sleazeball. No offense to Ted.</p><p>“Hey guys,” Paul says, awkwardly shuffling over and standing in front of them. Bill is shaking, his eyes puffy as if he’d been crying, which wasn’t unlikely. He was a very emotional person, and Paul could probably guess he was scared for his daughter after hearing about the other girl (whose name he had already forgotten) on the news. “What’s uh, what’s going on?”</p><p>Melissa sighs, rubbing circles into Bill’s shoulder. “Did you watch the news this morning?”</p><p>Paul nodded. “Yeah! Did- somebody know her?” </p><p>Bill piped up from his seat, “Grace Chastity! Paul don’t you remember her?” He continues when he's met with a blank stare. “She goes to church with me and Alice, god did you hear what they did to her?”</p><p>Paul nervously scratches at his forearm, “she got stabbed a bunch of times, right?” Bill's expression falters.</p><p>Charlotte gives him a stern look, letting him know he chose the wrong words. Paul wants to run to the bathroom again. </p><p>“I just can’t believe someone would do something like that… Grace was such a nice girl and I-” He sniffles, trying to keep from crying again. “She was only seventeen Paul, had her whole life ahead of her.” Paul doesn’t comment on the tears.</p><p>“God I’m sorry Bill, that’s awful.” Bill wordlessly stands up and envelopes him in a tight embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. Any other time, Paul would have pushed him off but today it felt necessary. Not just to spare Bill's feelings but to ease his own, it was just one of those days, he guesses.</p><p>After a moment of them just standing there, Paul sensing that his friend was feeling better, he finally spoke up. “I saw her at the Mama Mia musical just last week with Alice, and now she’s…” he didn’t finish the thought. </p><p>He stayed like that, silent, Paul nervously glancing over to Charlotte for help.</p><p>“Bill, honey, I think it’d be best if you took the day off.” She offers, turning to Melissa with a questioning look.</p><p>“Yes, that’d be for the best. I’ll let Mr. Davidson know why you left, don’t worry about it.” Melissa says with a sad smile.</p><p>Bill pulls away from Paul, wiping at his face and composing himself. “Okay…” he looks at Paul who gives a small smile, patting him on the shoulder.</p><p>“Go spend some time with your daughter Bill, I’m sure she’s frightened too.”</p><p>“Oh god I didn’t even think about Alice, I’m sure she’s terrified right now!” Bill starts quickly packing up his things, “what kind of father am I?” He mutters to himself while grabbing his golf hat and pulling the coat off the back of his office chair. </p><p>Bill starts thanking everyone but Paul doesn’t pay attention to any of it, instead a small form rushing past catches his eye. Mr. Davidson quickly enters his office with his head down, completely ignoring the commotion. It strikes a bit of worry in him, but as soon as he spaces out, Bill is embracing him once more and taking off towards the exit. </p><p>Paul knows that he wasn’t the only one who noticed Mr. Davidsons presence, following Melissa’s gaze towards his office. “I’m gonna go let him know about Bill.” Before anyone can say anything, she's gone.</p><p>Paul and Charlotte look after her.</p><p>“You should’ve seen him this morning,” Charlotte shakes her head. “I feel so horrible, he was really broken up about the whole thing.” She sighs.</p><p>Paul forces a reassuring smile, “Bill’s gonna be fine, he just needs to go home and not think about it is all.” </p><p>“I mean it’s so crazy isn’t it? One day you’re talking to someone and then the next, they’re just…”</p><p>“-bleeding out in an alleyway?” Paul offers.</p><p>Charlotte stares incredulously. “You’ve got a real way with words, Paul.”</p><p>His hands feel sweatier than usual, “hey, I think I have to turn in some papers by the end of the day so I’m gonna go work on that! Real busy, I shouldn’t have come into work so late.” Paul hurries off to his desk.</p><p>Charlotte shakes her head.</p><hr/><p>The work day had gone by really slow and Charlotte couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to the string of murders that have been terrorizing Hatchetfield. No, not murders, muggings. All six of them were muggings that ended with someone getting killed. At least that’s what the news said. It really was awful. Knowing that one of those assaults could’ve been someone she knows or even her. It filled her with dread. When her thoughts kept bringing her back to the possibility of being killed she couldn’t stand the atmosphere and the clicking of keyboards and ringing of phones, she needed to take a break. </p><p>She found herself outside the office building, mostly due to the fact that when she pulled out a cigarette in the breakroom Paul had made a comment. Smoking wasn’t allowed inside anyways but that rule always flew over her head. </p><p>As she takes a long drag off it, she finally lets herself relax.</p><p>She hadn’t received any calls from Sam today and that worried her. He’d been overworking himself every single night since this whole thing started and he’d had no time to relax. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t think he even had the time to fool around with any other women. It was a terrible thought, she knew. Sam had been seeing other women this past year since she’s aware of, it all started when they started having marriage issues. And Charlotte knows she isn’t innocent either but she truly loved Sam and wanted things to work out. That’s why she had started getting counseling with him. Recently though, he’d been working himself to the bone and he was just so stressed out all the time. The man came home early on nights he could and most of that time was spent with them just sitting down and watching movies together. Charlotte didn’t want to sound selfish, but for the first time in forever she felt like there was hope for them. Sam had no time to fool around even if he wanted to, Charlotte had him to herself. That resulted in Ted coming over less and less. This past month he hadn’t come over at all. </p><p>Hands on her shoulder and a loud ‘boo!’ jolts her out of her thoughts as she nearly drops her cigarette on the ground. She whirls around, locking eyes with the aforementioned man doubling over with laughter. “That wasn’t funny Ted!” </p><p>“Oh man,” Ted recollects himself, leaning against a small pillar sticking out of the ground next to Charlotte. “You didn’t even hear me come out, whatcha thinking about, was it me?” He suggests, waggling his eyebrows.</p><p>She rolls her eyes, smiling against her will. “No. I was thinking about the stuff going on around here, with the muggings.” </p><p>“You mean that Chastity girl? That’s why you don’t walk home alone. Same reason I came out here, didn’t want the “<em>Hatchetfield slasher”</em> to come get you while you’re out here all by your lonesome. Figured you’d need a big strong man to protect you, yeah?” Ted puffs out his chest, grinning.</p><p>Charlotte snorts, looking away at passing cars, “who do you think is doing it?”</p><p>Ted looks up in thought, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know about you but Mr. Davidson was acting really creepy earlier.”</p><p>Charlotte slaps his shoulder, “don’t joke about that.”</p><p>“You asked.” Ted mumbles.</p><p>“He’s probably just as shaken up as poor Bill, if not worse.” Charlotte's hands begin softly quivering, raising a cigarette to her lips. “Grace was his niece for gods sake!”</p><p>Ted throws up his brows, genuinely surprised, “what? Oh jeez Char how was I supposed to know that?” He looks down, “still though, when that whole thing with Bill was going on he ducked into his office. Did you notice that? He didn’t even say hi to anyone, that’s weird for him!” Ted pokes her as if to confirm it.</p><p>“Ted stop! He had to have been really upset, just stop.” Charlotte steps away, turning her back.</p><p>“Okay what’s wrong?” Ted asks, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her torso, resting his head in her curls.</p><p>Charlotte lets out a deep sigh, “it’s Sam.”</p><p>Ted immediately lets go.</p><p>“It’s just that he’s really overworking himself and I’m worried about him!” </p><p>“Why do you still care about that douchebag Charlotte?” Anger bubbles its way up, Ted unable to help it. The anger wasn’t because of her though, and that’s why he felt bad about it, but she needed to know that she deserves better. </p><p>Charlotte shakes her head, “well he’s been working this case for such a long time now and all he does is mope around and go to work! He’s just-” Charlotte swallows the lump forming in her throat, “he’s not acting like <em>my</em> Sam.”</p><p>Ted scoffs.</p><p>“I don’t think we should do this anymore Ted, it’s not fair to Sam and I need to be there for him right now, he deserves it.”</p><p>“What he deserves is to be hit by a semi! Do you think he says that every time he cheats on you? No, he doesn’t think about you at all, but clearly you can’t see that!” Ted spins around, storming inside.</p><p>“No, Ted!” Charlotte calls after him: he's long gone. She puts out her cigarette, dropping her head into her hands. </p><p>Good job, Char. You ruined everything.</p><hr/><p>Ted stomps past Paul, not even giving him the time of day, beelining for his desk. Paul decides against asking him if he wants anything from Beanie’s, but supposes that maybe he’d bring something back for him this time. That is, if he remembers.</p><p>It was dysphoric walking the streets of downtown Hatchetfield, the sidewalks being so devoid of life. It wasn’t that there was a lack of people by any means, just that all of them kept their heads down and had only one goal in mind. Bodies were all that they were, no personality or stray thoughts that separated them from the other. Sure, they had lives he knew nothing about, but were they really as exciting as they could be? Was <em>his</em> life as exciting as it could be? He brushes it off as, <em> no it wasn’t and he liked it that way, </em>but for some reason that thought bothers him more than his other existential ones.</p><p>Although, he hates music and any type of dancing, Paul would love to see a flash mob or something of the sort right about now just to stir things up.</p><p>“Hi, can I talk to you about saving the planet?” <em> oh no. </em> If there was something Paul hated more than anything, it was solicitors. The man ahead of him, who was actually the one who shouldered the shit out of him this morning went whizzing past the girl, simply waving her off and not responding. Paul took note. </p><p>Another came from the other direction, “hey! Do you have a few minutes to talk about saving-” and he was gone. Paul almost felt bad. Key word: <em>almost</em>.</p><p>The remaining people between Paul and the solicitor became fewer and fewer, his hands begin dripping with sweat. He was hoping to sidle by while she caught somebody else but as he tries to duck past her, her beaming smile turns to him, the true expression of a retail worker. “Are you interested in saving the planet?”</p><p>Paul stops: his first mistake, and fumbles for words. “Uh, yes I am! But I just got off work so-” </p><p>“Oh well it’ll just take a few minutes, it’s for the planet so,” She grins, knowing she’d finally caught someone. Paul tries to speak again but quickly, she cuts him off. “I just want to tell you about how you can contribute to Greenpeace’s efforts all around the globe.”</p><p>Paul puts on a fake expression of surprise, “oh! Greenpeace! Yeah I already give to you guys!” He tries to shuffle around her inconspicuously. </p><p>She blocks his path. “Oh, so then you know about our campaign to save the komodo dragons?”</p><p>Paul is caught off guard. For some odd reason he was expecting her to say something...<em>different.</em></p><p>When Paul doesn’t respond she continues, “you know, the ones we’ve been emailing you about? They’re in dire need of a habitat right now, all of their resources are being destroyed.”</p><p>He shakes himself off, hurrying to respond, “yeah! How could I forget about the dra<em>gons</em>? I’ve been getting the emails, <em>yup</em>. I’m giving.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re giving to the campaign that I just made up, right now?” She stares back with a smug grin.</p><p>Paul's going to puke. “You know how much of that money <em> actually </em> goes to the dragons?” </p><p>“Well, none because I just made it up.”</p><p>“Exactly! Zero. It’s all going down the line to some corporate bigwigs! I give MY money directly to the people who need it,” He takes off towards Beanie’s. He didn’t need to put up with this today.</p><p>Along the way he passes by a large set up of cop cars and caution tape, though he pays no mind. He's too busy avoiding the homeless man that lives right outside of the coffeeshop. The man: Joey (he thinks that's his name), surprisingly is nowhere to be found.</p><p>He enters Beanie’s, relief washing over him at the comforting smell of cocoa beans and warm beverages.</p><p>The line is decently long, about eight people deep. He’d wait as long as he could just to keep from walking past that Greenpeace girl again. Paul pulls out his phone while he waits, flicking through apps. He mostly read up on the Hatchetfield news website. Nothing much of interest, besides of course a brutal back alley stabbing but it didn’t truly concern Paul himself. Hatchetfield is a small town, not much happened here. A long string of murders - <em> string of assaults, </em> was almost expected because while it is a small town, it was a murky town. Many of its inhabitants are… interesting, to say the least. Paul didn’t pay any mind to them though, sure, a murderer in their midst was terrifying but it wasn’t <em>entirely</em> surprising. </p><p>He decides to click on the article regardless, better than hearing about Peanuts the squirrel again - there it is: <em>‘Grace Chastity, 17.’</em> The article doesn’t give any more insight than Dan and Donna had, just that the stabbing was believed to be connected to the other murders but no evidence could confirm it. <em>Pshht, </em>Paul doesn’t think so. He’s been here long enough to know that people get mugged sometimes. Paul nearly drops his phone as someone roughly grabs his forearm, spinning him around.</p><p>“Paul!” The man grins stupidly, sidling next to him in line.</p><p>“Uncle Gary, what are you doing on this side of town?” Gary straightens his glasses, glancing to the front. </p><p>“I’m over here on a business trip, just wanted to stop by and grab a coffee before heading down to see Linda Monroe,” Gary says. “Gotta discuss the will, <em>again. </em>” </p><p>Paul nods, knowingly furrowing his brows, “right, <em> the will</em>.” Gary Goldstein is his uncle. He thought he was inconspicuous, but the man was awful at keeping secrets, at least from Paul. The man is a lawyer for, christ's sake, he was affordable, but he wasn’t the best.</p><p>Gary grimaces, “what’s <em>that</em> look for?” The worst part is that he thought nobody else knew that he was currently having an affair with Linda Monroe. Well, everyone <em>knew</em> except Gerald Monroe apparently.</p><p>“Nothing,” Paul sighs.</p><p>“Why’d <em> you </em> come here? There’s a Starbucks right across the street, I’ve seen the workers here spit in people's coffee.” Gary shoots back defensively.</p><p>Paul moves up in line, Gary following, quickly looking over at the barista working the counter. Her face set in an emotionless state with bags the size of quarters, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with stray strands hanging out every which way. He sighs before turning back to his uncle, “I could ask you the same thing. Isn’t that like your job or something? Aren’t you supposed to bust them for that?”</p><p>Gary scoffs, “I’m an attorney not a health inspector.”</p><p>As they near the front of the line, conversation halts due to a commotion a few people ahead of them. </p><p>“Fine I’ll take it back then!” Once again, a curly head of hair comes marching out from in front of all the customers. The man who shouldered him, the one that was in an extreme hurry, apparently.</p><p>“Oh no! What am I gonna do without that <em>dollar</em>, I have to split it with five other people.” The aforementioned barista throws her hands up at the Man In a Hurry, watching with a sneer as he stops in front of Paul and Gary to whip around and point at her.</p><p>“You know what? I’m never coming back here again. That sign is BULLSHIT.”</p><p>“Oh my gosh, so mean!” She flips him off as he storms out the door, but not before her boss comes out to hear the tail-end of it.</p><p>“What an ass,” Paul rolls his eyes and turns to Gary, who stares after the man with an almost smitten expression on his face that leaves Paul questioning.</p><p>Gary snaps out of it, “yeah, well I’m sure the barista probably pissed him off.” He shrugs.</p><p>Paul is taken aback, “No. She does great work, don’t bash her!” He knows he sounds very defensive but he doesn’t care. “You know I saw that guy this morning too, you wanna know what he did? Totally ran into me, coffee was everywhere. Didn’t even stop to apologize! Then kept going like <em> I </em> was the one at fault, I mean who does that?!”</p><p>Gary frowns, “a man has places to be, and no offense Paul, but you usually are in the way.” He pauses, then backtracks, “not like metaphorically speaking, like physically. Since you were a kid you’d just randomly space out and stand there like an idiot.”</p><p>Paul furrows his brows. Family is a hard thing to deal with. While he knows Gary is his only uncle, and honestly the only family left alive, he knew they both wanted to keep in each others good graces. They didn’t get along that great but it was certainly much easier considering they were much closer in age than one would expect. Plus, Gary always had some interesting story of a court case that could carry along the conversation instead of Paul having to do it himself. He wasn’t great at that. </p><p>“Are you gonna just stand there like an idiot or do you actually wanna buy something?” The barista stands right in Paul’s view now, no other customers blocking their gaze. Paul fumbles for words, instead letting out a stuttering mess of sounds.</p><p>“Hi, yes, Gary Goldstein here.” His uncle slides in front of him, ordering a coffee. Paul just stands behind, cursing himself.</p><p>When he finishes, giving Paul enough time to fully recover from whatever the hell just happened to him, Gary turns around and winks with a knowing grin before grabbing a table for the both of them. Paul's left wondering what the <em>fuck</em> that was supposed to mean.</p><p>The barista stares back at him with a reasonably pissed off expression but softens up at the sight of Paul, “hi, what can I get for you?”</p><p>Paul raises his brows, “oh uh, I’ll give you an easy one! Just a plain, black coffee is all.”</p><p>She flashes a grin before spinning around with a blank face, pouring him a brew. Paul sheepishly glances down at the nearly empty tip jar next to the counter. He fumbles for his wallet, pulling out a five dollar bill, tossing it in the jar. The barista happens to catch him, growling. She marches back over. “Jesus, really?” She huffs out a breath of air, “<em>I’ve been brewing up your coffee-!” </em></p><p>“Oh! No, no! Uh,” Paul claps his hands together and apologetically smiles when he notices the sign next to the jar: ‘Tip for song!’. “I don’t need you to sing-” he flushes, nervously fiddling with his hands. “I just tipped because you know…” The barista has the slightest upturn of her lips, “people should tip.” Paul nods affirmatively.</p><p>She huffs out a laugh, “well thank you... Because if I have to <em>sing</em> for it, it isn’t really a tip, right?” She grabs the coffee kettle, slowly pouring it into a cup. There is no line behind him so for once he actually has time to talk to her. “Because it’s like I have a shitty paying job on top of my <em> already </em> shitty paying job! Cause most of my tips are-” she looks up in thought, “less than a buck? So after the split I’m making like, not even twenty-five cents a song. That is less than a fucking jukebox! Only that a jukebox doesn’t also have to make coffee for these assholes!” She spills some of the coffee while talking and quickly wipes it up, throwing the dirty rag over her shoulder and going to grab a lid, before pausing. “Not that you’re an asshole!” She tilts her head, “well maybe you are, what’d you tip?” She comes back over to Paul and pulls out the bill at the top, looking unhealthily surprised, “five bucks?” She says incredulously, then checks for her coworkers. “You meant this just for me, right? Like I don’t have to split this with anyone…”</p><p>“Oh no, that’s for you. I don’t give a shit about them,” He said cooley, earning him a laugh.</p><p>“That’s very sweet - god I’m just so sick of Nora, and <em> Zoey</em>. Who is technically my manager, although she is ten years younger than me.” His coffee sits right next to him but he makes no move to get it, opting instead to just listen with a smile. “Ugh, she hired all of her little theatre friends and they will not <em> shut the fuck up </em>-” she sings the last part, making Paul chuckle. “-about some shitty production of Godspell they did last summer!”</p><p>He perks up at that, “oh that was the one at the Rec Center, right? I think I had to see that!” She groans. “Yeah I did not like it!”</p><p>She spins around from cleaning off the countertops, “yeah!” she walks towards him, “it sucked right?”</p><p>“Yeah they shouldn’t call it Godspell, more like god-<em>awful</em>,” Paul glances behind him to see Gary watching with a big grin, he gives him a thumbs up. Paul whirls back around.</p><p>“Yeah, or like goddamn! That was bad,” she pops on the lid of his coffee while he laughs, probably more than he should’ve. </p><p>He abruptly stops feeling the need to clarify, “I don’t like musicals.” She nods her head politely, “people singing and dancing makes me very uncomfortable.” </p><p>“Then why did you come to the singing coffee shop, you know there’s a Starbucks right across the street,” the barista hands him his coffee.</p><p>He takes it, relishing the short lived contact of their fingers brushing against one another, sending a shock of lightning through him. “Well you know, some things are worth it,” he states plainly, and then curses himself. That was too straight forward, wasn’t it. Paul nearly apologizes and runs out the door but stops at the smile tugging at her lips, keeping him grounded. “Like-” he tries to save himself, taking a sip. “Damn good coffee!” and gives her a thumbs up.</p><p>She returns it, resting her elbows on the counter. “I see you in here all the time, don’t I. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Paul,” he lights up.</p><p>“Hi Paul, I’m Emma,” she smiles back, warmly.</p><p>“Excuse me!” a boy in suspenders comes flying out of nowhere, glasses and curly hair making him stand out. “I have been waiting a <em> very </em> long while!” His voice cracks multiple times, Paul almost laughs. The kid was a character for sure. </p><p>“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll get on that right now,” Emma rushes to get the brewer going.</p><p>“Uh, okay. Bye Emma!” Paul leaves the counter and walks to go sit with Gary. He's stuck on a call with a client, talking loudly to the bluetooth in his ear. </p><p>Paul sits in silence, looking out the window while his uncle finishes the call, trying to get a better look at the cop cars now. Paul doesn’t really pay much attention to the news but that spot looked awfully similar to the one on television.</p><p>“I can’t get involved if there’s no legal evidence! It could be anyone for all I know, police still haven’t figured it out so you can’t sue them for a crime they didn’t commit-! No, no! This is over, we’re done here.” Gary clicks the end call button and sighs, taking a drink of his Frappuccino. </p><p>“What was that about?” Paul asks, bored.</p><p>“The thing with the whole Grace Chastity murder, I’m the only attorney in town and the families trying to sue the neighbors for it based solely on a hunch!” He throws his hands up and shakes his head, “police still have not a clue who could’ve done it, but if you ask me-” Gary suddenly leans in close, prompting Paul to do the same. “People keep saying it was a murder but I think she did it to herself.”</p><p>Paul reels back, “<em>what?</em> So you think she stabbed herself about 28 times and then just laid down and died. That’s not even possible Gary, are you serious?”</p><p>“Think about it Paul, reports say nothing was stolen off of her! That’s not a mugging. If anything, post-mortem, that homeless douchebag probably took advantage of her,” Gary sips his coffee. “God knows he’s a fucking <em>cannibal</em>.”</p><p>“Jesus christ,” Paul shakes his head. “That’s disgusting, man.”</p><p>Gary puts his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying! If anyone killed her, it’s awfully strange nothing was stolen. She still had her phone, purse, everything.”</p><p>Paul stands up from the table, now feeling nauseous. “I’m gonna stop by the restroom, but it was good seeing you Gary.” He tries to smile politely, Gary already knowing he fucked up. Before the other could respond Paul sprints to the washroom, ignoring the concerned stares of his peers.</p><hr/><p>“What the fuck do you mean there weren’t any witnesses? It happened right here on the street and you’re telling me not one person saw <em> anything?” </em> Sam snarls, he marches back and forth looking at the crime scene before him. There was a blood smear going from the sidewalk into an alleyway between an office building and a cinnabon. The smell of those cinnamon rolls were awfully alluring but he had to focus on the job at hand. </p><p>“Sorry boss,” Doug shrugs. “Zero eye witnesses, nobody was out last night I guess.” She follows behind Sam who ducks under the yellow caution tape, strolling over to where they marked the body being found. </p><p>Sam stares at the spot for a long while, scratching his chin in thought. “I have no fucking leads.” He concludes, not even sounding angry, just disheartened. “There's been about six stabbings in town within the past month, and not one of them has been brought to justice.”</p><p>Doug pipes up, “Yeah that’s more than we’ve had within the past decade.” Sam shoots her a glare. “Um, but… We can check the list of victims to see if they have anything in common?” She tries.</p><p>Sam slowly nods, “yeah. Yeah go get the file from my car.” Doug hurries off leaving Sam to his thoughts. He watches as Rob circles the scene, looking for clues and pulling every passerby aside for questioning. At least <em>someone</em> was doing their job efficiently.</p><p>The sun glared down upon the cop, sweat dripping down his forehead. He nonchalantly wipes it off and adjusts his sunglasses, a nervous tick he’d picked up since this whole thing began. He was aware that he did it but felt powerless to remain calm. The whole situation had the team on edge, no, had Sam on edge. Something was off about the whole thing. </p><p>Doug returns with a casefile and begins reading off names, “There was a Cletus, Jaime, Richard, Barb, Owen, and then a Grace Chastity.” She motions to the ground they are standing on. </p><p>“None of them had anything in common, they were all of different backgrounds, stature, socioeconomic status. I mean the guy isn’t only going after women, or blondes, or one singular race. I don’t understand the motive!” Sam paces again.</p><p>“Well Sam, maybe they aren’t connected at all.” Sam stares at her with a deadpan expression. “I’m just saying! You’re connecting the dots a little too hard. Maybe there’s just multiple muggings going around town, I wouldn’t be surprised. Hatchetfield isn’t exactly an innocent little town.”</p><p>Sam watches her for a moment, lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re fucking with me, right?” He snatches the file out of her hand, “go help out Robert.” Doug shrugs and runs off to his side of the alley. </p><p>The autopsy report of Grace Chastity is sitting at the very front of the file: missing chunks of the face and twenty-eight stab wounds. That many must’ve bled her like a pig. When they found her body it was completely drained of blood, <em>odd</em>, but not completely out of the ordinary. The only thing out of place was the fact that not all of her blood could’ve possibly been drained here in the alleyway. It was completely clean, the marks ended where her body was found but did not pool around her. Which was impossible. She could’ve been brought from a secondary location and dumped off next to the Cinnabon for all Sam knew, but if just <em> one </em> person could confirm they saw her walking by then <em> he </em> could confirm that it was in fact a mugging. Case closed. No more worries. But Sam could feel it, something <em>bigger</em> was going on.</p><p>“Sam!” His head whips towards the sound of Robert calling his name, standing next to him was a tall raven haired man in a long coat and beanie. Sam quickly hurries over to them.</p><p>“What is it?” As he stood next to them, it took all of his willpower not to cough and sputter. The man smelt like dog shit. Giving him a once over he sighs, the man is clearly homeless and his eyes are dilated to hell. Just standing stationary, he's swaying back and forth on his feet, unsteady.</p><p>“He claims to have witnessed the murder!” Robert grins wide, standing straight and proud. </p><p>Sam makes eye contact with the homeless man and quirks a brow at Robert, who only shrugs and silently urges him to ask questions. “Hello, officer Samwell here. You say you’ve witnessed the actual murder that took place last night?” </p><p>The homeless man nods after a few seconds, eyes shifting all around the alleyway. “Yeah!” </p><p>“Okay… Well can you tell me about it?” He's already losing his patience with the guy.</p><p>“Well I slept on the cement right over there last night,” he points across the street, right outside the front of Beanie’s Coffee Shop. “I hear yelling, wake up, and someone comes walking out of that alleyway.” He finishes, proud.</p><p>Sam looks over at Robert then back at the homeless man, “okay well can you describe him?” </p><p>“He was pretty tall, well not that tall. I don’t know, he could’ve been shorter than me, maybe taller. Hard to tell from across the street. He had brown hair, no black, no brown!” He paused. “Maybe it was red? I don’t know I can’t remember. Then I went over there and nobody was there. I knew I heard screaming though.”</p><p>“Jesus christ, Robert, this guys high as shit.” Sam huffs out an annoyed breath, rage boiling it’s way up inside.</p><p>“No but about an hour later there that girl was! She was just dead in the middle of the alley! And then-... well you know the story from there.” Homeless dude shifts and pulls at his coat sleeves.</p><p>“Uh, thanks for the input…” Sam urges him on for a name.</p><p>“Joey!” He grins.</p><p>Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, gesturing to Robert who had written everything said down on a notepad. “Last name?”</p><p>“Oh, no thank you.”</p><p>“We need to put you down as an eyewitness! What the fuck is your last name?” Sam feels himself start to yell.</p><p>Joey looks at the chalked up ground, then back to the officers and does finger guns at Sam, “how about you write down yours, eh?” Then raises his eyebrows suggestively.</p><p>“Holy shit, Rob I’m gonna kill someone.” Robert quickly ushers the eyewitness away, thanking him and sending him off. He came back to Sam who held his head in his hands. </p><p>“Hey, hey.” Rob flicks Sam’s hat causing him to angrily jump up. “We have a lead now! Don’t be so angry.”</p><p>“A lead?” Sam begins cackling, Rob unsure or not on whether to join in. “Is that what you call a lead? He just spewed out some shit, what he described could literally be <em>anyone</em> on earth.” </p><p>Robert perks up, “not true! We can decipher that whoever killed Grace Chastity was in fact male, or at least had a masculine build.” </p><p>“Great, good for us. Six god damn deaths in my town, and the only lead I have is the jumbled words of an unstable bath-salt snorting homeless <em>bitch</em>, whose only information we know: is his first name. <em>Jackson</em>.”</p><p>“Joey.”</p><p><em>“Joey.”</em> Sam looks back at the scene of the crime. “I need a fucking drink.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's Been Real - Real Bad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I honestly had no clue what to title this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Now to Rod who’s currently on sight at the scene!”</p><p>“Thank you Donna! Now I’m here with a man who apparently claims to have been witness to the murder here on South Clydesdale Street. Tell me Joey, you said to have seen the actual suspect?”</p><p>“Well uh, yeah!”</p><p>“Describe them to me, height, age, what did they look like?”</p><p>“Well first off, I had had a really busy day and I was starving. So I see a stray dog pass by after waking up and think that I should go for a snack-”</p><p>“What time of day?”</p><p>“The uh... dark time. So then there’s screaming and somebody yelling help across the street and I see a short curly haired man in a light brown coat and scarf rushing by!”</p><p>“So you- you know what the man looks like?”</p><p>“No, I just see someone I know over there.” Joey points off screen somewhere and the camera is quickly panning over to catch a glimpse of a man speeding down the sidewalk. He side-eyes the cameras and flips them off. “He likes frappuccinos.”</p><p>“Okay! Okay!” A police officer is suddenly on screen, shoving the other man out of frame. “I’m Samwell, head of the Hatchetfield Police Department here! This man is mentally unstable, please don’t interview any eyewitnesses to this case he’s-” The officer turns around and starts forcing the witness back into their custody when he reappears in the background, waving at the cameras.</p><p>That’s when another cop comes on screen and starts explaining, talking loudly over the muffled sound of cursing, “that man’s on bath salts right now-”</p><p>“Hey!” Hannah shot up at her spot in a booth, looking as if she’d been caught in the act of something. Lex followed her gaze and found a frantic news reporter watching in horror as two cops tried to block some commotion in the back. “What’re you watching the news for?” She chuckled, bringing over a tray of McDonald’s cheeseburgers. </p><p>Lex slid into the booth next to her sister and started passing out food. Hannah said nothing, wordlessly accepting the meal and giving no other validation. McDonalds was usually disgusting but dollar menu items sure sounded a hell of a lot better than paying thirty bucks for the same meal at In-N-Out, so she dug in. </p><p>Hannah simply stared at the food, not touching it. Lex sighed, “come on Banana, this is the only meal for the rest of the night, make it count.” She slowly raised her hand to the table and picked up one french fry but made no move to put it in her mouth. </p><p>The fast food restaurant was nearly empty, save for them. It was relatively quiet, the only sound being the hushed news broadcast over the television and every so often the hum of a car would pass. A single teen worked the cash register, the name tag reading ‘Danny’. His jerky movements and frequent glances around the room were telling enough to Lex that the kid was dying for a smoke break. <em> Aren’t we all </em>. Nobody else was working in the back and the kid looked stressed beyond stressed. His tapping fingers on the counter nearly drove Lex insane. </p><p>Before she yelled at the poor kid the entrance door kicked open and in came walking one of the only things that kept her sane. “Hey babe, sorry it took so long! The fuckin clerk tried to charge me extra for gas,” Ethan jogged over to the table and slid in across from the two sisters. “Jeez this smells good,” he wasted no time in devouring about half of the burger before Lex could get a word out.</p><p>“Slow it down there bud,” she snorted. </p><p>“No way,” he said through mouthfuls of food, “haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Ethan swallowed and looked over to Hannah who sat with her hands in her lap, completely spaced out. “How ‘bout you Banana, you gonna eat any of that?”</p><p>Hannah promptly sat up, knitting her brows together in confusion and staring at the seats adjacent to her. “Unclear passage. Four-fifteen. Two cars not one.” </p><p>They all watched for a moment, Lex hears the tapping in the back come to an abrupt stop and glares at that teen, Danny, who quickly averts his eyes from their table. Ethan stops chewing and looks to her for help.</p><p>“Hey Hannah, how about you go play on the slides? Maybe if you run around a little bit you’ll get hungry, how does that sound?” Lex offered a smile, Hannah looking up at her, the concern reaching her eyes. Then she nodded and climbed over Lex to the playground.</p><p>“She still has that imaginary friend thing going on?” Ethan asks after they watch her depart into a slide.</p><p>Lex huffs out a breath, “it’s <em> been </em> going on. I don’t know what it is but since last month she’s been so stressed out,” Lex leans back, her broken seat sinking down. She wishes she’d just disappear into it, maybe she wouldn’t have so much to worry about then. “I don’t wanna say it has anything to do with the news, but that shit can’t be helping,” a picture of Grace Chastity’s dead body in the alleyway glides across the screen, and although it doesn’t show too much detail, it’s enough to scare a thirteen year old. </p><p>Ethan looks up at the picture and immediately looks back down at his tray, “I’m so sick of hearing about this shit.” With a roll of his eyes he continues, “you know my cousin Oliver? That’s <em> all </em>he’s been talking about recently. Murder this! Grace that!” </p><p>“Wasn’t Oliver good friends with her or something? I know I’ve seen them talking at school before.”</p><p>“Yeah, probably. I don’t know, they’re both nerds, I’m sure they were all a part of the outcast clique.” </p><p>Lex shoved him from across the table with a laugh, “Oh my god, Ethan you can’t say that. That girl literally died yesterday, that’s so messed up.”</p><p>Ethan looked around sheepishly and mumbled an apology.</p><p>“Cops keep saying that there’s zero connections between them all, I bet you they’re in on it.” Lex continued when Ethan looked up with interest, “I heard that Grace girl was totally dry, like zero blood in her! Sounds crazy, right? Well I don’t know about the other four but a dude named Owen Carvour also had stab wounds, but <em> he </em> fell from a window.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Well I’m just saying that both of them had no blood by the time the cops found em’, and couldn’t find where he fell from.” Lex paused to build suspense. “My guess is vampires!”</p><p>Ethan faked a gasp, “oh no not Edward!” They both giggled, “you’re still doing better detective work than them-” he gestured to the television, “I wouldn't be too surprised if there were actually vampires in Hatchetfield, we seem to attract all types of that culty-bullshit.”</p><p>“Yeah seriously.”</p><p>They continued eating for a bit before Lex rubbed her eyes, “I’m tired as shit. I swear to god as soon as we save up enough money to leave, I’m quitting my job at Toyzone.” She wasn’t sure how much they had, but she knew they were getting close. Lex had worked at Toyzone for nearly four years now under Frank Pricely. Four years too long. Being paid minimum wage to deal with entitled parents all day long that screamed and berated you was almost enough to drive a person crazy. The sad part was that Lex genuinely loved kids, loved being around and working with them. It was the parents that made her life a living hell. </p><p>“We’re getting there babe, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, we drive out with only enough money to pay for the gas tank and maybe do a few favors to get an apartment, y'know what I mean?” Ethan stopped grinning when he noticed how pissed off his girlfriend was. “But hey, that won’t happen,” he reassured. “As soon as we get past the border into California nothing else will matter because we made it.”</p><p>The mention of California brought a smile to her face. It felt like it was so close already, they just needed a little more time. “What’s the first thing you wanna do when you get there?”</p><p>“See a movie!” Ethan said.</p><p>She gave a bored expression. “You can see a movie here at the Cineplex down the street.”</p><p>“Fine, then how ‘bout…” Ethan looked up in thought, then threw up his hands in a big showmanistic gesture, “a musical!”</p><p>Lex laughed, “yeah that’d be good, they’ve gotta be better than the bozos we have in Hatchetfield.”</p><p>“I bet my uncle would freak if he heard that,” the corners of his mouth turned up. “Oh god, I bet you he’s probably freaking out about all these murders going around town.”</p><p>“Who’s your uncle again?”</p><p>“He’s my great uncle Henry! Honestly the only interesting one in my family line. He’s like a really kooky, reclusive biology teacher that lives at the very edge of town. I don’t see him much, but his house is like a steel fortress.” Ethan shook his head, “the man’s been claiming that the end of the world’s coming since the beginning of time.” He snorts, “last month was s’pposed to be the “Apotheosis” or something like that. Basically aliens were going to come down and turn everyone into a bunch of unstable theatre kids. Or he worded it as ‘the entire world would become a flash mob’!”</p><p>Lex bursts out laughing, “that’d be pretty cool actually.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.” Ethan shakes his head, taking a sip of his coke. “Anyways the guys fucking nuts, but he’s likeable enough.”</p><hr/><p>“GOOD GOD. ALEXA!” a small ‘boop’ sounded from the other room, “IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING.” Henry scrambled to put his Twelve Gauge shotgun back together. He’d been cleaning it out in preparation for something like this, all of his research had pointed to the collapse of an empire weeks ago but the meteor hadn’t ended it all. Instead of slamming into the Starlight Theatre like his equations had said, it ended up in some far off field where not an ounce of human population lived. He was sure the Apotheosis was going to happen, dreamed of it nightly, planned on the doom of thousands in Hatchetfield. It was almost a shame that nothing came of it. He popped two shells into the gun and snapped it shut like an action hero, resting the weapon against his coffee table. </p><p>“I knew something was coming, my theories were correct! All this preparation wasn’t for nothing.” Henry’s cigarette flew out of his mouth while he was talking, landing right next to the shotgun. He simply stepped on it before turning his attention back to the television. </p><p>“-the beginning of September, the first assault ended in the death of Cletus Jones. Stabbed to death. Jaime Lynn, stabbed to death. Richard Big, stabbed to death. Barbara Lavernor, stabbed to death. Owen Carvour, pushed out a window! And then stabbed to death.”</p><p>Henry swiftly stood up from his couch, watching intently.</p><p>“Police are concerned for the safety of their civilians. As of recent, the president has been looking into banning the usage of knives in Hatchetfield to stop crime!”</p><p>“Of course he is…” Henry groaned, quickly leaving the room into his lab downstairs. “ALEXA!” The small device lit up blue from its place on his desk. “I’ve theorized these exact circumstances for nearly thirty seven years, this <em> exact </em> turn of events! My hypothesis so far has been correct, but I believe these are all just ploys.” He rushed over and grabbed a stack of paper that lay scattered across his workbench. Flipping through countless pages, most having to do with aliens and singing, he searched for his notes. Most of the pages were filled with little drawings of people singing and dancing, blue leaking from their wounds. The Apotheosis. They were of no importance now, now he needed to find his most recent ones. The end of days. The apocalypse. Or maybe something like it, he wasn’t quite sure yet.</p><p>“This is all just a ploy. For something bigger! Much bigger. I know it. But I’m not sure exactly just what it is yet. Here!” Henry grabbed a page and tore it out of the notebook, holding it up to his little robot companion. “It says it all here.” The man waited patiently for <em> Alexa </em> to ‘ <em> read’ </em>through it all. Then he pulled it away and yanked open his desk drawer, a large crumpled up paper inside. He snatched it out and laid it on the table, flattening out the edges. Henry scanned through all the red marks on the map of Hatchetfield, until his eyes landed on one standing right on top of an intersection away from the downtown area. “And I know exactly where the bastards gonna strike next!”</p><hr/><p>Sam huffed out a breath, marching up the steps to enter the Cinnabon. They’d crowded around the crime scene all day long, keeping away citizens and the press so they could further investigate. Unfortunately, most of their time was taken up by trying to get Joey into custody. It really wasn’t hard, but Sam was pissed off so maybe he made it seem like a struggle just to get a few extra blows in. Now the witness was safely leaning against his police car, being questioned even more by Doug and Rob, not that there was really that much more information to get from him. </p><p>The door jingled as he entered, the scent of warm pastries drizzled with liquified icing blasted him in the face. It probably added a few extra years to his life. “Afternoon m’am,” Sam called to the lady working the register.</p><p>She watched him come in with a tight smile, quickly scrambling to attention.“Welcome to Cinnabon, what can I get for you today?” </p><p>Sam non discreetly peered over the counter and held back, <em> I’d like to get a warrant to inspect the junk in your trunk </em> “I was hoping you could show me some camera footage regarding last nights little <em> disturbance </em>.” He flashed a charming smile and put one hand up on the glass container with all the pastries inside, peering at her through his sunglasses. “You guys happen to have a camera facing the street? Ideally one that looks directly into the alleyway here on the left?”</p><p>The woman smiled back politely, “actually the one that faces the streets been broken for nearly two weeks now. Footage will flicker on and off as the day goes by so I can show you but I doubt you’ll be lucky enough to see that exact point in time.”</p><p>Sam nodded, grin still plastered on his face, “that’d be great.” She opened a small, waist high gate next to the cashier, letting Sam in, and then walked to a room towards the back. He swiftly followed behind, contemplating on stealing one of the cinnamon rolls sitting out until ultimately deciding against it. </p><p>“Here,” she showed him to a small computer with three cameras currently rolling on it. “Go nuts,” then she left the room.</p><p>One camera faced the cooking area with all the ovens and dough. The second one looked over the single front room, its view above the entrance facing the cash register. The third looked down onto the sidewalk right out front of the building. “Bingo,” Sam muttered, quickly clicking in that window and scrolling through the footage. They were unsure, but evidence suggested the murder happened around 11pm, so he skipped to that time and watched at triple the speed.</p><p>The footage was shit, every few seconds the screen would get all staticky and fuzzy. It was nearly impossible to watch, but Sam tried his hardest. Every once in a great while there’d be someone who passed by the store front, but nobody suspicious. There was a group of teens, stray dogs, and then grey fuzziness. Then there was a blood stain leading off camera on the cement. Sam kicked the table and cursed, the time of the footage was nearly 4 in the morning, having completely skipped over the actual crime. Okay, then the other cameras must’ve caught <em> something, </em> right? He clicked on the entrance door, watching through the footage from 9pm to 12pm. Few people walked in at that time. There was a few random people who looked like they could’ve just gotten off work, coming in for a treat. Then there was a redhead in a heavy jacket, underneath being a nurse uniform. Someone Sam recognized, a tall, lanky dude with terrible facial hair, a messy brown combover and an ugly brown collared shirt with a tie. Ted, he thinks was his name. <em> The other guy </em>. Sam sneered at the man, but didn’t let his personal life get in the way of his investigation. Someone else walked in at 11pm on the dot, Sam shook his head in disgust. Denim on denim was a terrible look. He panicked as the screen nearly went completely static again, but it went right back to normal as the final customer entered the building. Sam froze the screen, getting centimeters away as he tried to see whose face belonged to the man. “GERALD MONROE!” Sam shot up with glee, quickly composing himself and almost sprinting out the door. “Thank you m’am you’ve helped a lot,” Sam hopped over the gate and turned back to the woman, unsure of how to thank her and awkwardly tips his hat, then he’s gone.</p><p>“Rob! Hey Rob!” Sam waves his hands, trying to get his attention as he stumbles down the steps. </p><p>Rob, Doug, and <em> Joey </em>, Sam nearly pukes even just thinking his name, all turn to the spastic man with concern. </p><p>“I know exactly who to question next,” Sam announces with a genuine smile. “Gerald Monroe, you know the<em> ‘Dr. Monroe of Inner Beauty-Rhinoplasty </em>’?” He’s met with blank stares. Sam rolls his eyes, “Linda Monroe's husband.”</p><p>“Ohhh,” they all say in sync.</p><p>“She spit on me last week!” Joey speaks up, a dazed grin as he stares off into the clouds as if reminiscing.</p><p>“Uh, yeah…” Sam uselessly adjusts his sunglasses. “Anyways, he was the last one in the shop. We’re going to the Monroes household,” He concludes.</p><p>Doug sighs, “tonight?”</p><p>“Hell no, maybe in a few days I’m tired as shit,” Sam said.</p><p>“Cool,” Robert stuffs his notepad away into his uniform pocket and starts ushering Joey to get back to his ‘homeless business’ or whatever the hell it is that he does everyday.</p><p>As he’s walking off he waves to all the officers, “bye Doug! Bye Sam! Bye Rob! Bye <em> Sammy </em>.” The mans got the biggest smile in the world on his face but that just makes Sam want to punch him even more. Everyone else waves back though, a fond smile tugging at the officers’ lips as they watch him go. Not Sam though.</p><hr/><p>Emma swept empty cups and napkins out from under one of the tables at Beanie’s, carelessly flicking it out into the middle of the floor. It was seven o’clock and she was <em> still </em> at work, she should’ve left thirty minutes ago but here she was doing everyone elses jobs, again. Zoey loudly complained to her boss about some corny true love bullshit. Emma could care less, she just wanted to get the hell out of there and go home. “Hey, aren’t you guys supposed to be, y'know working?” She interrupted, both of the girls simply glared at her and continued talking. </p><p>Emma sighed, picking up the pounds of empty hot chocolate cups seated in the furthest corner of the cafe. That poor kid was stressing her the fuck out all day. He stayed from opening, 6am, to closing thirty minutes ago. Oliver she thinks was his name. He was just absolutely devastated the entire time he was here. He had papers and messy scrawled on notes sitting all over the table. She never thought to come over and ask him because frankly, she didn’t care, and she had a job to do, but from what she could’ve guessed it probably had to do with a hard breakup. Oliver ordered about fifty cups of hot cocoa, not that Emma minded because it was the easiest thing to make. Kid was nice enough to tip the first time around, but after his eighth order Emma was fine settling for one dollar.</p><p>“What about you Emma?”</p><p>She snapped out of her thoughts, “what?”</p><p>Zoey groaned, “I asked how your love life was, god nevermind you don’t even have one do you.” She returned to scrolling through her phone as Emma slaved away.</p><p>“As a matter of fact I do <em> Zoey.” </em> She doesn’t know why she even tries to defend herself, she hates her job and coworkers so their opinions made no difference to her.</p><p>“Oh are you talking about that really awkward tall guy that comes in <em> every </em> day? The one that’s like, really sweaty all the time?” Zoey grimaced at the thought.</p><p>Emma turned and faced them, “his name is Paul, and no I don’t like him. I just think he’s sweet. Except you guys wouldn’t know since you’ll settle for any guy with a working penis,” she snorted at her own joke. They didn’t take it as a joke though, both looking at each other and then returning to quietly speaking amongst themselves. “Hey by the way, is that thing still going on between you and Sam? The guy who’s literally married to another lady and ten years older than you?”</p><p>Zoey scoffed, “no I’m not talking to him.” Her gaze went out the window to all the torn up caution tape across the street, it was nearly dark outside now and no cop cars remained. She didn’t continue her speech so everyone went back to doing their own thing. The only sound being the Hatchetfield News quietly playing in the background. It had been playing all day long, Emma could recite every piece of evidence if she wanted to on the ‘<em> String of Muggings </em>’ plaguing Hatchetfield. She wanted to throw a rock at the screen to shut it up.</p><p>Zoey didn’t feel the same way though, she was definitely watching it as she piped up as soon as they mentioned their one confirmed witness. “You know I was working late last night.”</p><p>Nora looked up from her spot at the counter, “okay?”</p><p>“Well our building faces the crime scene so…” Zoey trailed off, inspecting her nails while waiting for somebody to realize what she’d said.</p><p>Emma shot up, her eyes widening, “did you see it happen?”</p><p>Zoey simply shrugged with a smile, as if it were something to be proud of.</p><p>“Oh my god, Zoey why haven’t you told the police?” Emma quickly made her way over, Nora doing the same.</p><p>“What did you see?” Nora questioned, seeming much more interested in their conversation now.</p><p>“I’m not telling the police because I’m pissed off,” she growled.</p><p>Emma and Nora shared a glance, “what the fuck are you talking about, you could tell the cops who you saw and get the whole thing over with!”</p><p>Zoey groaned again, rolling her eyes. “Sam hasn’t called me back in like two weeks now and I’m mad at him!”</p><p>Emma could only stare in stunned silence. </p><p>“Well what did you see?” Nora repeated the question.</p><p>“I’m not telling you guys because then you’ll tell Sam.”</p><p>“You didn’t see shit,” Emma rolled her eyes and dragged her broom behind the counter to shove between stuff. She began undoing her apron, throwing it carelessly up onto a coat hanger leading into the storage room.</p><p>“I did! I saw them, didn’t see her get killed but I saw them.” Zoey followed Emmas actions, then grabbed her stuff and began walking out the door. “Fine, don’t believe me.” And she was out the door.</p><p>Emma shook her head, “why don’t you fire her already? I mean that’s illegal, right? Withholding evidence and all that.” </p><p>Nora shrugged, “she doesn’t complain about singing for tips.” </p><p>The fucking tip jar again. She hated singing, especially in public where you really shouldn’t be singing. Working at coffee shop where you have to stop every few minutes to sing a stupid three minutes song was embarassing for one, and two, honestly terrible for business. If Emma didn’t ignore the rules than they’d only get through about half their customers every day before the rest stormed off out the door for having to wait six hours for a cup of fucking coffee. Emma grabbed her phone, the screen lighting up. “Ugh god, Tom is calling me again.” She declined the call and shoved the phone in her pocket.</p><p>“Isn’t that your brother in law?” Nora questioned.</p><p>“Yeah, I feel bad rejecting his calls but he’s been ringing my phone off the hook all day long. I know he’s dying for me to babysit Tim,” Emma murmured. “Like it wouldn’t be such a big deal, I’d love to hang out with them especially since they’re some of the only family I’ve got left but-” she declined the phone again when Tom’s name pops up, “he’s an asshole.” She finished plain and simple. Nora just nodded along, not really paying attention. “Anyways I’m gonna head out, see you tomorrow,” Emmas gone before Nora can even respond, but the thing is Nora doesn’t respond, she just watches her leave.</p><hr/><p>“Goddammit!” Tom shouts, slapping his phone down to the kitchen counter. Emma hadn’t answered her phone all day, if he weren’t any smarter he’d think she were ignoring him. “Tim.” No answer. “Tim!” </p><p>A muffled ‘what?’ came from down the hall, sounding extremely annoyed.</p><p>“Tim get dressed! We’re going...somewhere!” Tim groaned. Tom grabbed his jacket draped over the couch and quickly put it on. Emmas dead, so no point in going over to her house. Grace Chastity was dead, so he couldn’t leave Tim with her to babysit him. He put both hands on the couch and stared intently at a small piece of chipped wood on the TV stand, thinking of what to do. If someone were to come through the backyard, Tom would be able to see him coming and grab a baseball bat to fight the perp off. If they came through the front door, which was unlikely, Tom would hear them and could fight him off before he got to Tim. He shook his head, <em> what about the windows? </em> That would be a problem. And either way Tom wouldn’t be able to disarm the intruder if they came in packing heat. Maybe Tom just shouldn’t ever sleep again, then he’ll always be ready.</p><p>Tim came marching out into the living room wearing an oversized flannel and sweats, pulling on a beanie. “Where are we going?”</p><p>A lightbulb went off in Toms head, “guess what buddy!” He kneeled down to his nine year olds level. “Get excited because we’re going to go buy a gun! That’s cool, right? Every kids obsessed with guns,” Tom smiled patting his sons shoulders but is met with a rather worried expression.</p><p>“Dad you’re not supposed to hold a gun,” Tim slowly said, as if he were talking to a frightened animal. “Remember? You can’t even hold the ones at Pizza Pete’s,” he furrowed his brows, recalling his dad going stock still as soon as he picked up the toy gun at the Zombie arcade machine. He ended up playing skeeball the whole rest of the day.</p><p>Tom huffed out a breath and stood up, going to grab his car keys, “the rules change when there’s bad people running around town. And I only didn’t play the Zombie game because I was busy trying to win you that RC car you wanted!” Tom felt a pit grow in his stomach, what kind of father was he? Being reminded by his own son of things the poor kid shouldn’t even have to know. “Now get your shoes on, we’re going to run down to the shooting range!”</p><p>“But dad,” he felt hands on his arm, he realizes he's just been standing at the kitchen counter gripping his car keys in a tight fist. “You can’t, you’ll get-” Tim paused and spoke in that slow voice again, only agitating Tom further, “flashbacks.”</p><p>He wasn’t some scared animal that needed to be shushed and calmed down, he was a grown man dammit. A nine year old shouldn’t be telling him what to do. But as much as he hated to admit it, the kid wasn’t wrong. That didn’t stop him from snapping back, “I don’t get flashbacks, I remember bad things… vividly.” Then Tom shook his head and leaned down on the counter with his elbows, he dared a glance at his son who only stared up at him with concern for <em> his own damn well being. </em> Tom almost scoffed, he should be the one keeping his family together not his son. He knew Tim learned it from his mother, Jane. That’s why he finally gave in. “Okay. Okay fine. But we still need to go to Home Depot or something so I can protect us.”</p><p>Tim cocked his head and let out a small laugh, “from who? And why do I have to come with, you usually have Ms. Grace watch me when you go out.”</p><p>Tom froze, it suddenly getting <em> very </em> hot in the room. How the hell was he supposed to explain to a nine year old what was going on? <em> Oh, well you know Ms. Grace? Yeah she can’t babysit for you anymore, she’s fuckin dead. </em> This is another thing Jane would’ve known how to do. Instead, Tom was here to explain. Tom, who was currently sweating bullets and clenching his car keys like a lifeline while his own son comforted him and talked him out of buying a gun because he was mentally unstable. He slowly turned to Tim, not completely looking him in the eyes. “Ms. Grace is out of town for a while so she can’t babysit you.”</p><p>Tim shrugged, “oh, that’s okay. I hope she comes back soon, I like Ms. Grace.”</p><p><em> Oh, oh this hurts. </em> Tom's gut clenched, <em> “yeah </em> me too.” He couldn’t say the same for her family though. He’d been getting calls all day long and banging on his door about the whole thing. Graces family lived right next door to Tom, and he couldn’t believe it but they thought he was the one who fucking did it. He serves two years in Iraq and gets PTSD, just for his neighbors (who he’s never been a great fan of, but Jane loved them,) to throw it back in his face and claim that Tom probably went ‘ <em> psycho </em>’ on Grace and killed her. He loved the girl, she was always super nice! Brought him groceries sometimes and always babysat Tim when he asked. He honestly saw her as a daughter, so the fact that the neighbors kept screaming at him and blaming her death on Tom was insulting and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, it hurt his feelings a whole helluva lot.</p><p>So as Tom finally came out of his catatonic state, he started ushering Tim out the front door, but checked to see if the neighbors were outside first before sprinting to the Sedan. “Alright, we’re going to the hardware store!” As he pulled out of the driveway, he caught a glimpse of a smile on his son's face, a genuine smile. Something he hasn’t truly seen since Jane died. It filled his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling, like maybe he did something right for once.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are much appreciated!! I'd love to hear your guys theories and whatnot! Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. What Do You Want, Paul? Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is part 1 because I started writing and when I wrote out the whole chapter I literally had 12,000 words so I'm splitting it in half</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next few days things seemed to calm down. There was no new evidence floating around, the cops had nothing to say, and the news had already moved on to the next depressing topic. Like how they’re cutting the funding to Hatchetfields softball program because frankly nobody cares about it. Paul agreed but at the same time it wasn’t fair to all the few people who did care about the sport. Besides that, life just seemed to slowly go back to normal. There was no new topic of conversation, it was just the same old gossip behind each others backs and family drama that always seemed to be plaguing everyone elses character arcs. Grace Chastity was quickly forgotten, just another face lost to the dirt of Hatchetfields population. Life resumed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul typed away on his computer, he was in no rush to get his papers done due to no nagging voice looking over his shoulder every few minutes. The voice simply disappeared. He hadn’t been having any nightmares, it seemed that the singing was just a one time thing. Still it felt attached to him in some way that he couldn’t place, but thinking too much about it made his head hurt and his stomach clench. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Work was going by slow today, he liked it that way. It gave him something to do, took his body away from his apartment where if given the chance, he’d no doubt sit down and stare vacantly at the air conditioning box until it was bedtime. Then again he’d go visit Beanie’s to say hello to the one sane person in town, the only one who would understand him. Emma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, Paul spotted Ted making his move towards the empty breakroom. Just before he could make it though, Charlotte got up from her desk and Ted made an abrupt left turn that nearly threw him off balance towards Paul’s desk. They’d both been acting weird recently. Paul assumes that it had to do with them going out for a smoke the other day but he really couldn’t tell due to their hectic schedules. He was sure it had to do with Sam again. It was always about Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ted staggered towards him, rounding his office chair and sitting right beside Pauls computer on the desk. The man didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched as Charlotte entered the break room by herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul stopped typing and nervously pulled at his shirt sleeve, “uh, hey Ted! What’s going on with you?” He cringed at how awkward he sounded. He already knew this conversation was going to lead to more </span>
  <em>
    <span>people problems.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing good Paul, I’m doing real well! How ‘bout you huh?” it was like a switch had been flicked, his forlorn expression turning to one of amusement within the blink of an eye. If it were any other day Paul might’ve accepted the bait and talked about his own situation, but as much as he wants to avoid the </span>
  <em>
    <span>people problems</span>
  </em>
  <span> he knows that Ted wouldn’t talk to anyone else about this stuff. Well he would talk to Mr. Davidson, but the mans been out of commission himself the last few days, so he wouldn’t be of much help. “You talk to that lil’ barista today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul shook his head, flustered, “no! I haven’t gone to Beanie’s yet.” Before Ted could make a snarky remark, Paul cut him off, “what’s going on with you and Charlotte?” He asked bluntly. Ted’s stupid grin dropped from his face.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Maybe he came off a bit too forward, maybe he should backtrack.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a few seconds of painful silence, of Paul running through a million different things he could’ve said before Ted spoke. “Don’t worry about it Paul,” he looks away, flicking a few paperclips off Pauls desk and watching them land a few feet away. Paul tries not to comment on it, as irritating as it’ll be later when he has to retrieve them because he has zero paperclips left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys have both been acting weird, I wanna hear about it.” Paul tries probing for information, a skill he’s never learned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ted looks surprised and then starts, “well you know about the whole thing going on already. Sams a douchebag.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul waits for him to continue before gently confirming, “yeah sam’s a douchebag.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right! So she keeps crawling back to him, and keeps trying to make it work, and keeps going to counseling, and keeps doing all these things but it’s not gonna work!” Ted pinches his nose in frustration, “she doesn’t get it. I don’t understand how she doesn’t understand! Paul it’s a mess. Let’s get some coffee.” And then Ted is grabbing Paul and physically dragging him out of his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stumbles to his feet and protests, he was almost done with his paper. Also he doesn’t really wanna go get coffee with Ted because he knows Ted will try and flirt with Emma just to mess with him and he doesn’t want to deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Paul?” Melissa comes walking into view holding a clipboard, her face is one of concern and Paul is easily assuming that she’s thinking about calling the police on Ted because this whole situation is new and Paul looks like he’s on the verge of an anxiety attack. Ted lets go at once and glares at Melissa, helping the other man to stand steady with a hand on his forearm. “Um, Mr. Davidson would like to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it something urgent? I mean we’re going to get coffee right now,” Ted complains, about to turn around and just walk out with Paul in tow. If he did Paul doesn’t think that he would argue with it either, he’d just follow behind because Ted said so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, actually.” She tries, her gaze flickering between Ted's angry one and Pauls stressed, sweating form. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it about work? I didn’t know if we had any deadlines but I must’ve forgot,” Paul quickly leaves Ted, who stares after him with the most painful look of betrayal, and heads towards Mr. Davidsons office. Behind him, Ted just huffs out a breath and turns around, Paul’s sure, to go get Beanie’s without him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking down the hallway to his boss’s office was unnerving, really, because he’d been avoiding talking to him since the Grace incident. Mr. Davidson had been so distant the last few days that Paul was dreading their conversation, as sad as it was. This was another one of those things that Paul hated, he knew they were going to have to discuss feelings and all the pent up emotions inside. That’s how all these meetings went with him. It was business. Business. Business. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey so what’s new</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>people problems.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul hated that term, but it was fitting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul realizes he’s been standing outside his office for about 45 seconds before shaking out of his daze. Uncle Gary was right, he’s gotta stop doing that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul draws in a breath, and gently knocks on the door before slowly opening it to a… well it’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span> sight. Despite it being a sunny September morning, the office was dark and grim, only small slivers of light pouring into the room. Papers and boxes of files were strewn about the place, some file cabinets had drawers just open, and his desk was no better. Next to a few picture frames and a cord phone, that was hanging carelessly on the floor, there was even more papers, pens, cards all thrown over the desk like a blanket. Paul couldn’t even see the actual surface of it. Then next to the man’s hand was half of an eaten apple that must’ve been there for quite a few days, if the yellowing, rotting skin weren’t telling enough. Then the man himself. Paul couldn’t say he looked much better than the place he resided in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Mr. Davidson,” Paul said slowly, sauntering carefully into the room, avoiding all the small obstacles. He found his way to his seat, sitting down right in front of his desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please Paul, I’ve told ya a million times to call me Ken,” Mr. Davidson, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ken,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said with a small polite smile. Paul would prefer referring to him as Kendrick, it seemed more formal than just Ken, but it also seemed like he were an angry parent calling their child in for doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kendrick. Kendrick. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The man before him was not the same one he’d seen last week. This one was much more beaten down. His hair was a mess, usually that was a given, but now it seemed to stick out more. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, months even. The dark circles forming under his eyes made him almost look like a racoon, Paul would have laughed if it weren’t so sad. His face just seemed puffy, and his clothes were wrinkled and really quite dirty. Once again, usually his odd sense of fashion was endearing, but now his salmon colored collar shirt and ugly red patterned tie with the suspenders were melancholic. His coat hung off the back of his chair and from what Paul could see, it was covered in sweat stains and other various substances, like dirt or food and the likes. Kendrick looked like absolute shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right! Sorry,” Paul nervously laughed, but upon breathing in he recoiled at the smell. The whole office stunk. It stunk of rotten food and generally just the man himself. “So uh, what’d you call me in here for?” Paul tried to ignore everything put out before him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothings wrong if I don’t mention any of this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh well you know, just wanted to check up on everyone since it’s been a while!” Kendrick says, folding his hands in his lap and fiddling with his tie. “So how’ve you been, getting stuff done I hope?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul swallows, “yeah! Yup! Been getting all those papers done that you wanted me to finish, I wasn’t sure when the deadline was so I’ve just been kinda taking my time with it if you don’t mind?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, I don’t mind at all. I haven’t really given you guys much of anything so just, get the stuff done that I told you to get done and you’re fine.” Kendrick sits up and grabs a few papers that are spread all over his desk. He clears his throat while struggling to pick them up, tapping the stack against the desk to make it a little neater and then he licks his thumb and stifles through some of it. “I just wanted to let you know that I have a few new things for you to do-” as he’s droning on about business, Paul picks up on the repeated glances over to the picture frame on his desk. If he remembers correctly, that frame had a picture of his wife, Carol. “-it’s really important that you get this done.” Kendrick pauses to sniffle slightly, his eyes darting over to Carol yet again, “I want this in sometime by next Thursday if you can-” and it’s really a pathetic little sight, his boss trying to muscle through and discuss business while on the verge of tears. Yet the conversation carries on like nothing, Kendrick speaking, Paul responding. And then suddenly his words are breaking up, and Kendricks voice is caught in his throat as he tries desperately to finish his sentence but it isn’t working and then the tears start rolling and his frantic breaths are fogging up his thick-rimmed glasses that are way too big for his head. He quickly brings his forearm to his face and starts frantically wiping, the glasses being pushed up his nose and settling on loosely clinging to his forehead and Paul is just watching in awe because he really doesn’t know what to do at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He only lets his boss sit in a miserable silence for a very short amount of time before he’s reaching out for him, and by that time he doesn’t even remember getting up from his chair and rounding the desk to get to him. It feels right to kneel down to his level, so he does and he’s got a hand on Kendricks shoulder, massaging small circles as he miserably tries to stop the tears from flowing but it just</span>
  <em>
    <span> isn’t working</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul looks over at the picture frame, scanning the photo and he was right, this is about Carol. “Hey, hey,” Paul tries, like he’s shushing a frightened animal, “Mr. Davi- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ken</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How’s Carol doing?” He softly asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a moment for the man to recollect himself, but when he lifts his head Paul cringes at the wet tear and snot stains all over Kendricks sleeve. Through small hiccups he slowly starts to speak, his focus solely on Carol, “god paul, she’s… She’s devastated and I don’t know what to do-” he drew in a few stuttering breaths, “Carol always wanted to have kids and she loved Grace, Grace was her world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul nodded along, turning Kendricks chair so it was facing him. It was such a different scene than what usually went on in here. Sure he’d seen the man cry before but not like this, he’d never seen his boss look so small and unstable before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was usually Paul wasn’t it?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kendrick rambled on, most of his words barely audible and a jumbled mess but Paul got the gist of it. He was stressed, just really overwhelmed by everything going on, reasonably so. “I just wanna be with her...but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t!</span>
  </em>
  <span>-” His eyes shifted from Carol, to the floor, to the ceiling, and barely landing on Paul while he trembled, “she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaving</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I- and I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s leaving?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Divorce?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clydesdale…” he huffed out, “she wants to spend time with her </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she doesn’t wanna be in Hatchetfield,” Kendrick solemnly admitted. “Paul, I don’t know what to do.” He let out a dejected laugh, hair curtaining his face as he looked at the floor. Paul stared, waiting for something else he could work with. His boss sat up after a few seconds, pushing his curly locks from his face with a quivering hand, “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul nodded again, feeling useless. “Well cops are doing their job, I’m sure they’ll catch the guy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Davidson laughs quietly, his spirit looking crushed, “yeah…</span>
  <em>
    <span>the cops</span>
  </em>
  <span>... you know the neighbors are getting blamed for it?” he sniffs, “poor Tom who’s just trying to get by with his kid? Taking all the blame.” Kendrick shakes his head, and he’s fallen silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul sighs, leaning in and embracing the man who just falls limp in his grasp. The sniffling starts up again and they stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Until the phone starts ringing, and by then Kendrick is mostly consoled but it’s still awful timing. Melissa pipes up on the other line and tells him he has a call waiting for some very important business, and that’s Pauls cue to leave. But as he makes his way out the door he can’t help but want to come back in and help the smaller man, who watches him go with an absent expression, looking like he is just dreading this phone call. The man almost looks scared, and then Paul has closed the door and finds himself feeling empty once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whole situation really hits Paul in full force right then. Hatchetfield was good at forgetting things, it’s always been that way, and at some point it really shows how numb it’s made people to these sorts of events. Six murders. Six twisted, horrible, bludgeoning murders. You don’t realize the full extent of their trauma until you deal with it first hand. And it just reminds Paul how real, how human, Mr. Davidson actually is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul feels a stab in his gut, he thinks he’s going to puke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walks back down the hallway and over to where the rest of the employees are working, he sees Ted surprisingly waiting patiently for him on his desk. All of Paul’s paperclips are on the floor now but he doesn’t find it in him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ted cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head and staring at him with wide, worried eyes, Paul thinks he looks like a big dumb puppy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul wordlessly comes up to his desk, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and pulling it on. Ted begins asking him what’s wrong but Paul cuts him off by mumbling “coffee,” and Ted is quickly following behind him out the door. Paul makes a note on how clingy Ted’s being but he lets it slide for once.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Sam took a bite of his Subway sandwich, grimacing at the taste but forcing himself to swallow it anyways. He hadn’t eaten anything for a few days now, while he felt rather weak and out of it he simply couldn’t think of doing anything other than solving the crime. Charlotte told him he should be eating, he didn’t like listening to Charlotte though. Not that he wasn’t avoiding eating because of her, but he didn’t want her to tell him what to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was driving through Hatchetfields small neighborhoods, the early morning light filtering in through his windshield. Not many people were outside, mostly everyone already at their jobs or going to run errands for the day. It was calming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam was finally going to the Monroe household and he decided that going by himself was the best option, as not to intimidate them. He was sure that randomly being visited by the police was never a stress free situation, but he was hoping that by the time he was done he would be leaving with Gerald Monroe in the back of his car. That was, if his claims line up with Sams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cruising down the street he finally came upon the larger, richer part of the neighborhood. Where singular houses were gated off and had huge driveways with fountains outfront of their homes. A few houses up there was someone laying down on the sidewalk, and Sam cursed, praying that the body wasn’t in front of the Monroes house, but alas, as he passed by each gate the address numbers got closer and closer together and yup. A man was passed out</span>
  <em>
    <span> right </span>
  </em>
  <span>in front of the Monroes house. Just his luck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tossed his sandwich into the passenger seat and tried to get a closer look at the man, feeling queasy upon recognizing the familiar tan coat and grey beanie. “Jesus christ, what the fuck are you doing here?” The man flinched at the sound of his voice but made no movement. Sam nearly felt himself grow a tad worried. He got out of the car with a grunt and marched over to the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>homeless man</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleeping on the Monroes lawn. “Hey!” Sam lightly kicked the mans back, who jerked at the touch and quickly looked to see where the assault came from. His face lit up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you guys wouldn’t ever come!” Joey looked like shit, his eyes were dilated as per usual, but it didn’t seem like he was on drugs. Or he was. Sam wouldn’t know, he didn’t babysit the guy. He was sweating profusely and his face was very pale. Joey looked extremely sickly, and probably super dehydrated. “I’ve been waiting here for a few days, Mrs. Monroe didn’t appreciate it too much but I don’t think she cares anymore after yesterday!” Joey pulled himself to his feet, swaying and leaning heavily on Sam who cowered back when his odor followed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened yesterday?” Sam coughed out, close to retching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She hit me with her car.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam gaped at the man, “what the hell are you doing here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you here?” That should’ve been his first question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you said we’d-” Joey cut himself off with a sneeze, “‘-</span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to the Monroes household!’ So I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looked him up and down, “you’ve been here… for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three days</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Joey nodded. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you do the things you do?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He mumbles, spinning around out of his grasp and walking back around the cop car to the drivers side. Joey watches with an almost saddened expression. Sam gets in the car and growls in frustration, rolling down the passenger window and reaching over to unlock the door. “Get in the fucking car, heres some food you absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>dipshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joey smiles so wide it looks like his face might split in half and he’s bounding over to the car with the energy of a happy go-lucky dog. He scrambles to open the passenger door, picking up the Subway sandwich and settling himself in the seat. “I’ve never been in the front of one of these before!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That made Sam question his choices just now but he quickly brushed it off, “eat the Subway, take my drink I don’t give a shit.” Joey did just that. Sam probably just gave him the best meal he’s had in awhile, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. “We’re still going up to the Monroes, I need to talk to Gerald,” Sam pulls the car up next to a keypad and types the code in, promptly driving up the length of street to their house. He parks his car just in front of the porch and contemplates before getting out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be a waste of gas to just leave Joey out here with the air conditioning running, not to mention the guy might also take off in his cop car, but he couldn’t leave him without any air on. It was like leaving a dog out in the car while you go shopping, chances are it’s probably not gonna survive. Sam looked over to Joey, who within the time frame of him getting in the car to now, has already devoured Sams lunch. Joey was practically bouncing in his seat, he definitely looked a lot better than ten seconds ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam groaned again, slamming his hand against the steering wheel and balling it up into a fist. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Linda won’t be happy about this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Alright come on, let’s go fucking interview my </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>suspect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joey gleefully hopped out of the car and waited for Sam to do the same before following behind the shorter man all the way up to the doorstep. Sam takes note of the car sitting in their driveway, meaning that somebodies home thank god. Before he even raises a fist to knock he whirls around and balls up Joeys coat in his hand, yanking him down to his level and literally growling in the mans face, “you’re gonna keep your mouth </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If you make even one off hand comment about how ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mrs. Linda spit on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I ate a stray dog earlier’</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll beat the shit out of you. Got it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joey grins, the smile reaching his eyes, “got it!” God Sam wants to punch him. He wants to hit him so bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Sam sighs in defeat and lets go of him, gingerly raising his fist to the door, shooting a glance back at Joey who’s watching a rabbit hop through the front yard, and knocks on it. Within a matter of seconds he hears voices and the tapping of footsteps behind the door. It opens swiftly, revealing a small woman with bleach blonde hair wearing a large fuzzy black hat and cloak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Gerald! It’s not the neighbors again, the police are at my door!” Linda answers the door with her phone in hand, glaring at Sam and- “Oh my god. Who is this horrid-looking bear in a trenchcoat behind you?” Linda points at Joey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam almost wants to defend him but briskly shrugs it off, “‘morning Mrs. Monroe! Is Gerald home at the moment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linda scoffs, rolling her eyes, “they’re talking about you Gerald. What do you people want? Can’t you see I’m busy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hear shuffling and clunky footsteps moving around in the house, Sam catches a glimpse of pale skin rush into a bathroom behind her, holding a bundle of clothes. “Ah… Mrs. Monroe we have a few questions regarding the murder of Grace Chastity, we just wanted to ask your husband a few questions really quick, is he home?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No he isn’t home, and you caught me at a bad time. I was just discussing the will with my lawyer before you interrupted!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joey and Sam share a glance, “I apologize for intruding…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man comes out of the aforementioned bathroom looking quite disheveled, hair sticking out every which way and tie loosely hanging undone over his shoulder. “Hi Gary Goldstein attorney at law, are you aware that my client has a severe anxiety disorder and you showing up unannounced is a very stressful situation for her! I hope you have a search warrant to be showing up on these premises.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls his eyes, “I’m not searching the house- jesus christ we can go out for lunch or talk outside, I don’t have to go in the fucking house I just need to ask a few questions!” He was starting to lose his patience, but he felt a hand rest on his shoulder in what should have been a comforting manner. Sam smacked his hand off and shot a glare at Joey. “Please, for the love of god can I speak to Gerald!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gary stiffly turned to Linda, “Gerald is not currently home.” Sam furrowed his brows, “I do have a very important business trip I should be making right about now! Linda, we can finish discussing </span>
  <em>
    <span>the will</span>
  </em>
  <span> another day!” The Attorney quickly shoved past Sam and Joey, sprinting to the car in the driveway. Joey waved and said a small ‘goodbye!’ before Gary hopped in his car and sped off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all stared after him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes Gerald, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>your fault,” Linda spoke into her phone. With a roll of her eyes she opened the door all the way and let the duo in, squinting at the homeless man, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>is he with you? He smells like sewage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam walked in to the entrance, admiring the beautiful interior of the home, “yes he does.” He glanced back at Joey and found that he didn’t seem as impressed with the place, but he kept passing glances at Sam and followed really closely behind him. Sam was impressed he’d kept his mouth shut for this long. “He’s a… eyewitness, gotta keep him in my custody for now,” it was a stupid lie but he wasn’t going to leave Joey outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linda led them over to the couch with small protests and ended up grabbing newspapers to put underneath Joey so he wasn’t actually touching the cushions when he sat down. She sat down across from them in a small recliner and crossed her legs, “what do you want?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is uh, Gerald still on the phone with you?” Sam asked, scratching at his forearm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re asking for you,” she groaned into the phone. She didn’t put it on speaker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam passes a glance at Joey, staring off somewhere. He follows his gaze to a small pooch laying down by their backdoor. “Mrs. Monroe, where is Gerald right now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At a Rhinoplasty appointment dealing with clients. He’s very busy if you couldn’t tell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam cleared his throat, talking loud enough so that he was sure Gerald could hear his voice, “where was Gerald on the night of Grace Chastity’s murder?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard hushed voices coming from the telephone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gerald where were you?” Linda says with conviction in her voice. “He was at work,” she drawls, “can this be over with now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tilts his head, “that’s interesting because I visited the Cinnabon downtown and found video footage of him entering the building right at the time of the murder.” Sam smiles, thinking he’s got him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linda gasps. “Gerald! You’re not supposed to be within a thousand feet of a <em>C</em></span>
  <em>
    <span>eenabon</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> is that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linda ignores Sam, berating her husband and arguing with Gerald. Sam just shifts uncomfortably, snapping to action when Joey starts to get up and yanks him back down to the sofa. The man is really just eyeballing that dog. Sam hears crying coming from the phone and Linda is still angrily yelling at Gerald and that’s when Sam reaches his breaking point. This investigation was going to be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>death</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Oliver tapped his hand rapidly against the coffee table, looking over his papers that were spread in disarray all over the place. He just looked over them to kill the time, he wasn’t actually reading any of it. He glanced up to the baristas hurriedly working the counter, there were a lot of people today but Oliver </span>
  <em>
    <span>swears</span>
  </em>
  <span> they’ve skipped his order about six times now. He was dying for hot chocolate right about now, his heartbeat was racing and his whole body felt shaky. He was nearly on the verge of an anxiety attack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To distract himself he kicked the legs of his chair a few times, bounced his knee up and down. He knew he looked like a crazy person. Could feel all the eyes on him. Dammit he just wanted one cup of hot cocoa. He quickly stood up and called to the</span>
  <em>
    <span> angry</span>
  </em>
  <span> barista, “excuse me-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s on its way Oliver!” She sternly told him. This wasn’t the first time he’s asked, so Oliver just sits back down and starts drumming his fingers against the table again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t exactly in a rush, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Arthur hadn’t even gotten off work yet, his friend still had a few hours at the Cineplex. Luckily he only had a half day, so Oliver didn’t have to wait that long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oliver!” He shot out of his seat and rushed over to the counter and snatched his beverage from the barista. It felt like a years worth of stress poured off of him at just the heat emanating from it. As he spun around he knocked into another man who grabbed his shoulders to steady him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah there!” he chuckled in a southern drawl. Oliver stared up at him with wide eyes, quickly adjusting his glasses and ducking over to his table. All he could think was that denim on denim was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bold</span>
  </em>
  <span> fashion choice, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver snatched up the news articles and messy notes he’d taken. A picture at the top of one of the articles caught his eye, making his throat clench. It looked like it was taken from the Hatchetfield highschool yearbook, Grace Chastity looking into the camera with a heart warming smile. Oliver felt frozen in time. The years of regrets and unspoken feelings washed over him, he shakily downed his hot chocolate. He was going to find out who did it. Oliver owed her that much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gathered his things, running to the doors and throwing them open to the outside just as another man was entering, both mumbling apologies. Oliver was practically sprinting home. He didn’t have a car that his parents would let him drive so this was the only way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver didn’t get within fifty feet of Beanie’s before he slammed into </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span> man crossing the street from Starbucks. Luckily none of his papers got knocked out of his hands. They were both in a hurry so they just paused and glared at each other in disgust before mumbling to themselves and parting their separate ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed materials for their project tonight, well they didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need materials but Olivers walk home would only take about fifteen minutes and Arthur still had two hours left of work. To kill time he took a left once he got to the next street corner and headed for Lowe’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The store wasn’t busy, as nobody ever goes to Lowe’s. It was kind of a shame. Oliver was hoping this would take longer than anticipated. Nonetheless, he walked through the stores sliding glass doors and marveled at how big the inside was. He was hoping he’d get lost in here, might save him thirty minutes of sitting by the door waiting for his best friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver strolled through the aisles, walking up and down each one despite knowing where everything he wanted was. He purposefully ignored the signs stating the exact objects you’d find in that specific aisle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was looking for a big whiteboard to slap all of his papers on, so he could be like one of those detectives on the crime shows. Maybe get some red string and thumbtacks too. As stupid as it sounded, that technique would actually work really well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he turned into the car repair parts aisle and froze in his tracks. A familiar leather jacket caught his attention, something he’s learned to fear after countless </span>
  <em>
    <span>altercations</span>
  </em>
  <span> that usually ended with Oliver hiding in the restroom at school with many bruises and a bloody nose. His fight or flight response seemed to have completely failed him, but he finds that the man before him doesn’t seem interested in him. He’s looking through the car parts, specifically for a trailer hitch it seems, and then the guys eyes are on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver turns to run away, but then he’s calling over to him. “Heeeeeeyyyyy- you,” he drawls, it’s clear that Ethan Greene, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his own cousin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t remember his name, but Oliver makes no comment on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oliver,” he quietly says. Then Ethan is coming towards him and sweat pricks the back of his neck as he wraps an arm around the frightened teen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, Oliver!” Ethan used to beat him up for his homework answers at school, (or for talking too much), they were in the same english class so he couldn’t really avoid him. Granted, that was last year and they were seniors now. Not to mention he hadn’t seen Ethan at school the entire year, the other teen definitely having dropped out but Oliver didn’t really notice until now. He just felt a strange sense of relief lift off his shoulders when he went down the hallways, he didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Even though they were blood related, they never had gotten along. “Hey buddy, what are you doing here, looking for car parts? I thought your parents didn’t trust you with a car,” Ethan smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure Ethan was teasing him but he didn’t exactly seem like he was very hostile, so Oliver went along with it. “Just getting some stuff for a school project…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan patted him on the back and walked Oliver back over to where the car parts were, the other boy wanting to protest but keeping his mouth shut. “Cool, cool. School projects are </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m looking for a new trailer hitch for my girl out there in the parking lot! Looking specifically for a…” Ethan glanced at smudged messy writing on the palm of his hand, “receiver hitch!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver knits his brows together at the writing, “it’s spelled r-e-c-e-i-v-e-r not r-e-e-s-e-e-v-e-r, you spelled it wrong.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re spelled wrong,” he snaps back, making Oliver cower away. “Anyways, hey! I heard about your girlfriend getting murdered, that stuffs tough. Real sorry ‘bout that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A surge of grief climbed up his stomach, but he quickly swallowed it back down. Grace wasn’t his girlfriend, she was his best friend and he wanted to defend her honor by saying something back to Ethan that would make him feel bad but he doesn’t have the courage. “It’s fine,” he quietly croaks out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool-io, alright well go get your school project stuff. See you at the next Christmas,” Ethan slaps him on the back and as soon as he’s released, Oliver is gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teen quickly goes to find a whiteboard, and grabs a bunch of markers and extra stuff he more than likely doesn’t need. He pays for it at the cash register and then finishes off his hot chocolate, chucking it into a trashcan, before sprinting the rest of the way home. By the time he does get home, there’s only fifteen minutes left to spare before Arthur gets off work and Oliver is already on his phone dialing his phone number. He picks up on the 8th try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Oliver, I’m on my way.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, hurry up I’ve been waiting all day! This is really important!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay! Okay! But know that I’m gonna be late. My parents don’t want me driving their car all the way to your house to hang out so they’re making me walk.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever. Just run the whole way here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur scoffs on the other end, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“yeah okay.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oliver hangs up with Arthur, and immediately gets to work. He takes all of his supplies to his room and pulls out the whiteboard, pinning it up on the wall of his messy room. There’s clothes everywhere, Oliver considers cleaning up for just a second but then realizes that Arthur could give two shits less what his room was like so he elected not to care either. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. What Do You Want, Paul? Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They walked down to Beanie’s since it wasn’t that far from the CCRP office building. Ted was ranting about the cub’s game the entire way and honestly Paul was grateful for it. His meeting with Mr. Davidson really threw him off this morning and with Ted rambling it took his mind off of the whole thing. The funny thing was that neither of them gave a shit about baseball, or any sports for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted hated baseball, but he happened to have watched the Cub’s play the other day and he really couldn’t think of anything else to talk about so he just kept ranting. Paul had been really quiet since the meeting, and while he didn’t ask about it Ted was absolutely dying to know about what went on in there. For all Ted knew he could’ve gotten fired, but whatever it was, Paul was really shaken up about it and he could tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul finally speaks up once Ted is done ranting, his mind traveling back to everyone elses problems instead of his own. Beanie’s just invoked thoughts from him, so much has happened there that plagues his mind on a daily, even the little things. Like Gary showing up the other day because he was on a business run. “I don’t mean to bring the mood down, but I think my uncle is having an affair with Linda Monroe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted laughs at that, “bring the mood down? Paul you have significantly brought it up, why in the hell would Linda Monroe want anything to do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> uncle?” He waits for an answer, staring at Paul incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul has the slightest upturn of his lips, half of a smile forming, “well my uncles a lawyer, remember?” Ted confirms it. “He’s literally the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span>  lawyer in town. I ran into him the other day at Beanie’s and he was there to discuss </span>
  <em>
    <span>the will</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Linda Monroe again.” As he says it out loud it doesn’t sound right. “I uh, I don’t really have any reasons why but I think he is. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted’s laughing so his thoughts weren’t a complete waste of time, it makes Paul chuckle a slight bit as well. His uncle having an affair with the richest woman in town was ridiculous. Not entirely impossible, but it was ridiculous. Then they’ve moved on to the next topic, and Ted’s talking about Sam, ranting about him he should say. Ted hates him. Paul hates him because Ted does, <em>and</em> Ted makes a convincing argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This continues for a while until they start getting nearer to Beanie’s, and Paul starts sweating bullets again. It’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The solicitor is at it again, trying her damn best to stop anyone who was willing to even respond to her. The Greenpeace girl. It was just like a few days ago, an older man in a pink and blue jacket passed by her, waving her off. A man in a business suit walking from their direction sped right by her. Another one narrowly avoided the girl. A woman glared at her, making the girl back down. Ted kept droning on about what a piece of shit Sam was. There were so many people, but the crowd dispersed and grew fewer and fewer as they neared the Greenpeace girl. And Paul knew she was going to say something to him. He knew since he had lied about giving to charity, she’d make a side comment. Sweat poured down his back, he scratched nervously at his wrists, he glanced every other direction but hers. Then suddenly no other person separated Paul and the Greenpeace girl, her gaze met his, eyes interlocked in a knowing air. She walked towards them, a big fake smile plastered to her face. She opened her mouth to speak-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, we don’t want what you’re selling!” Ted, who was already pissed off, shouted at the solicitor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well no, actually I’m asking you to give-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>give </span>
  </em>
  <span>a shit.” And it was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared with wide eyes, stunned into silence. Ted and Paul kept walking, Greenpeace girl kept trying to talk to other people, completely unphased. Then Ted continued his rant as if nothing happened. He looked at Ted, looked back at Greenpeace girl, Ted, Solicitor, Ted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ted was his hero. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul decides that from now on he’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to Beanie’s with Ted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally reach the actual coffee shop, the smell of warm beverages once again relieving both of them. Stress just seems to drift off of you when you’re at Beanie’s. Paul swears it’s better than Disneyland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hop in line, it’s not a long one since they got off on their lunch break a little earlier than usual today. Ted makes a comment about beating the rush hour. The people in Beanie’s were interesting today, there was that obnoxious teenager from the other day absolutely stimming while waiting for his drink. A man sat by himself at a table reading the newspaper, he wore a </span>
  <em>
    <span>denim</span>
  </em>
  <span> jacket over a </span>
  <em>
    <span>denim</span>
  </em>
  <span> collared shirt with </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeans</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To top it all off he had a light purple hat covering his slicked back raven hair. He was interesting. Then there was Emma, wearing a scowl on her face while she wiped her hands off on a rag thrown haphazardly over her shoulder. Just the thought of talking to her when he got to the front of the line was enough to make his knees weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul!” He didn’t realize Ted had been speaking to him this entire time. “I was asking you about The Hangover, have you seen The Hangover?” Paul just kinda nods along with him. Ted snorts and grins at Paul knowingly, “oh I see what the problem is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul snaps to attention, “what?” He tries and fails to seem innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The latte hotte is working today isn’t she? You gonna ask her for her number this time or am I gonna have to do it for you?” Ted nudged him with his elbow playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul spluttered for words, face growing hot. He almost yells at Ted to shut up when they reach the front of the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma’s standing at the cash register, her features growing soft at the sight of Paul. “Hey! You’re the guy who doesn’t like musicals, Paul right? What can I get for you and… </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?,” she gestures over to Ted, leaning against the counter on his elbow with a sorry attempt at being flirtatious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shoves Ted aside before he can say anything, “hey Emma! Just one black coffee and a Chai iced tea for him!” They share a smile while Ted makes a fuss and recollects himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’ll get right on that!” the barista goes to grab empty cups and the two of them wait patiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted tosses a few bucks in the tip jar, and when Emma doesn’t notice he’s about to call out to her but Paul elbows him in his stomach before he even gets the chance. He coughs and recoils, glaring at Paul with his mouth hanging open, “come on Paul, come on!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glowers at him, saying nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma gets them their drinks faster than usual, Paul picks up on the fact that she’s not the only one behind the counter today. Her coworkers were actually helping out for once, although the ginger was on her phone while she mixed everyone's drinks. “Chai iced tea and a plain black coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Emma!” Paul gratefully takes both the drinks, handing Ted’s tea to him and they both go on their way. He was sad that there wasn’t much of an interaction between them today, he was really looking forward to Emma but he was also relieved that there wasn’t enough time for Ted to embarrass him. A breath of relief escaped him as they left outside, he was tense the entire time they were in there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that your uncle Gary?” Ted laughed out, pointing across the street to a man coming out of Starbucks from across the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul squinted, trying to focus in on the man. Then a familiar yellow tie caught his attention. “Oh shit,” Paul grabbed Ted’s arm and they both hurried down the sidewalk, walking as fast as they could with their heads down. It’s not like Paul hated his uncle. Hate was a strong word. He just disliked him, he disliked him quite a bit. Maybe it wasn’t Gary, but their conversations always took a lot out of him. Ted wasn’t too fond of Gary either, he knew that much.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Gary quickly walked across the street from Starbucks, no drink in hand and still feeling as messy as ever. He had tried combing his hair with his hand all day but no matter what he did he’d still have a cowlick sticking up here and there. He looked awful and felt awful, especially since the incident with Linda this morning. Something inside him up enough courage to go find that one man who was always rushing around today, someone he just kept running into for some reason. Today was the day he’d talk to him, Gary swore it. Unfortunately he hadn’t had any luck at Starbucks, he’d assumed that since the ‘<em>man in a hurry</em>’ had stormed out of Beanie’s the other day, he could find him at the other cafe. Now it was on to Beanie’s, and as he entered the shop a boy in suspenders slammed into him upon opening the door. They both muttered apologies, and then someone else bumped into Gary but all he could catch was a flash of denim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today wasn’t his day, but he pressed on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary got in line, a very long line. He came right at everyones lunch time, but it was alright. Scanning the room, he didn’t find what he was looking for, scanning the line ahead of him, he found nothing. The lawyer sighed, he supposed this was alright. He looked like a mess anyways, talking to the man would’ve been a mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door dinged behind him and someone stepped in line, directly behind Gary. He gave it no thought until he heard a small annoyed groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary stiffened up, very slowly checking over his shoulder to see if it was in fact the man. There he was, messy hair, pissed off expression, and oversized coat with a blue scarf. He was scrolling through his phone, tapping his foot and glancing around from time to time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. Okay he can do this. Just. Say. Hi.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t you the guy who yelled at the baristas the other day and stormed out?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at Gary, furrowing his brows. “Yeah, what about it?” He had a deep voice, Gary liked that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, why are you back? There’s a Starbucks right over there,” He sounded too accusing, but he tried to save himself with a small chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man growled, rolling his eyes, “oh yeah? Well Starbucks isn’t any quicker than Beanie’s so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in an awkward silence for a moment, until Gary speaks back up. “I see you in here all the time, what’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man is shocked for a moment, Gary can’t place why, then he violently shoves his phone back into his coat pocket. “Jeremiah, and you’re Gary Goldstein right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary raises his eyebrows and confusedly asks, “how… how did you-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have like a hundred billboards around town,” Jeremiah laughs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gary Goldstein Attorney at Law.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He flushes, embarrassed at his own slogan being thrown back in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremiah gives him a satisfied smile and is about to pull out his phone again when they move up in line. “God, what the hell is taking them so long…” he mutters. Jeremiah has moved up so the two of them are standing side by side now, it’s a small detail but it’s one Gary notices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary finally pulls himself together and tries again, “you’ve been in line for not even thirty seconds.” He stares at Jeremiah quizzically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s thirty seconds too long,” the shorter man huffs, tapping his foot more rapidly. He literally can’t stop moving, Jeremiah’s fidgeting with his sleeves and lightly bouncing himself up and down. Gary felt like he was standing next to a ball of energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary felt like he should ask the obvious, “why are you in such a hurry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremiah squinted at him, “why do you care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re giving me anxiety, just sit still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, “I have places to be and these damn baristas won’t move their ass!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary rolled his eyes. The conversation continued like this, banter back and forth. He’d just met the guy but the way they argued sounded like they’d known each other for years. It was refreshing. Finally by the time they had reached the front of the line, Gary still barely knew a thing about the man besides his name. And that he had a very interesting choice in beverages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get a grande caramel frappe and a venti cup of ten pumps of hazelnut, three shots of espresso, no caramel drizzle with whip on top?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary gave him a look for that one, which Jeremiah returned with a scowl and ‘<em>what?</em>’ They eventually got their drinks, not even having to wait five minutes but to Jeremiah it felt like five hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna sit down at a table?” Gary asked, hope clear in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremiah paused, as if considering but then he was already on his way to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m in a hurry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary felt a pang of disappointment as he watched Jeremiah go. Then he took a sip of his coffee and couldn’t help smiling, his chest feeling warm and fuzzy.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Ted and Paul stood outside CCRP, it was mostly just small talk while they finished off their beverages outside. Not that drinks weren’t allowed inside, it was just that neither of them wanted to go in and face their problems. Paul didn’t want to see Mr. Davidson again. Except this time it wasn’t because of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>people problems</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was because he didn’t want to see that crushed look in his eyes again. That helpless stare. Paul wanted to help him, he really did but there wasn’t anything he could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped talking, leaning against one another and staring out at the passing cars. It was a tender moment, soothing to both of them. The wind began to pick up a bit, a small breeze blowing through Paul’s hair. He looked up at the sky, clouds were beginning to form and block out the morning sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Paul said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted hummed in agreement, his mind somewhere else. They stayed out for another fifteen minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Paul,” Ted piped up after a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna go in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul turned, confused. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted turned and made eye contact, “I don’t wanna see Char just yet. I think…” He looked down, contemplating. “I think I need another day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ted spoke softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go home Ted, I’ll let Melissa know you went home sick or something.” Paul smiled assuredly at him, side hugging Ted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Paul,” Ted gave a miserable smile and started walking through the parking lot to his car. He turned around and waved, before taking off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul finished his coffee and went inside by himself. His first stop was the break room, he didn’t want to say that he was avoiding his boss, but he was. It didn’t matter though, because he ran into Melissa as soon as he reached the entrance to their break lounge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Paul,” she said politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Melissa.” He glanced inside the break room window, only seeing Bill and Charlotte in there. “Do you have any idea where Mr. Davidson went?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melissa nodded, “he went home early. About an hour ago, almost right after he got out of the meeting with you.” She smiled sadly, “he’s having a hard time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Ted, he left with you right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! No uh, Ted had to go home early. Wasn’t feeling too well.” Paul lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melissa looked over to his desk, “he left all of his stuff here, didn’t grab his jacket or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scratched his wrists, “yeah he threw up in the parking lot, couldn’t come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh <em>ew</em>, that sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” Paul slowly reached out for the door handle. “I’m gonna go say hi now,” he opened the door and entered the break room. He was met with Bill complaining about his daughters girlfriend again, Deb. He seemed to be over the whole Grace Chastity thing, as was everybody else. It was old news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went and sat down next to Charlotte, Melissa following and sitting adjacent to Paul. Bill droned on about Deb for a good while, he never stopped actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-And then Alice says that she’s a vegan! It was crab fest, I missed out on crab fest because of Deb!” Bill grumbled, looking as if he still regretted not being able to go, despite this happening multiple weeks prior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlotte crossed her legs, “well as long as she isn’t doing drugs and drinking and all that, I wouldn’t be too worried about her Bill.” She tried to offer helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s the thing! I don’t trust Deb, I’ve seen the people she hangs out with and I don’t want Alice hanging around a bunch of losers like that! I just don’t understand what she sees in Deb, she can do so much better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Bill sighed, looking up to Paul and suddenly lighting up. Paul didn’t like that. “Hey Paul!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here he goes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You used to babysit for Alice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he said cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She thinks you’re cool, maybe if you were to talk to her about that stuff she’d listen to you,” Bill pleaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shook his head, “I don’t know Bill, isn’t that your job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well she won’t listen to me, I tell her that all the time but she refuses so I just think if she were to hear it from someone other than her dad…” Bills face dropped at Pauls lack of concern. “I just don’t want her to be doing bad things already, she’s only seventeen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded along, “I’m sure she’s fine. Alice is a smart girl, I’m sure she’s making good choices.” He smiled, reassuringly.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Alice coughed, waving her hand in front of her face to get rid of all the smoke in the air. It was useless, the whole room was filled with it, and from what she knew, the only thing filtering any fresh air in was the tiny vent on the ceiling. The friends she was hanging out with, well they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deb’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends, decided to come over while it was just her and Deb hanging out. Her dad would be pissed if he found out about this, but she was lucky they weren’t at her house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another boy came stumbling into Deb’s room, he looked about seventeen as well. His clothes were baggy and he had some major bags under his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny!” One of the girls called, she was wearing a jean jacket but Alice didn’t know her name. “Finally, I thought you were gonna bail out on us,” she laughed, shoving him when he sat down next to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I was busy at work.” The girl passed him a beer from an opened package next to her, Danny took it gratefully and chugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right! That’s right! Danny works at a fuckin McDonalds!” she howled with laughter while Danny shouted protests back at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice cringed, Debs friends were too loud. Everything was too much, the smoke in the room, everyone's beer breath whenever they spoke too close to her face. She thought that this was just going to be her and Deb, just a small little sleepover where they could watch a few scary movies and eat popcorn, not this. Deb seemed to notice, so she leaned over and asked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Alice nodded, she was lying but she didn’t want to ruin Debs night because she was uncomfortable. “Do you wanna leave?” Deb asked, concern over her features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice shook her head, “no it’s okay! Have fun, don’t worry about me.” She smiled, Deb returned it and continued talking with her friends. Alice wished she could just sink into the bed and disappear.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Arthur finally got to Olivers house, he’d elected to ignore his phone the whole walk over because it would not stop buzzing. Oliver probably tried to call him about fifty times before he completely shut it off. Arthur was more than a few minutes late, he was a few hours late. It was almost dark out by the time he reached the doorstep, clouds beginning to fill in the sky. Arthur walked up the steps, sneakers kicking stray rocks as he made his way to the door. He knocked on it, adjusting his glasses and pulling his hoodie over him a little tighter. It was supposed to rain tonight, so he made sure to prepare for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver opened the door within seconds of him knocking, a scowl on his face. Arthur shrunk back, feeling less confident. “Sorry?” Oliver grabbed him by the arm and yanked him inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been waiting for two and a half hours, you said thirty minutes!” Oliver dragged the poor boy into the house, down the hallway and into his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur protested, his stomach growling. “Waaaaiit!” he cried, “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver groaned, turning around before they even made it inside his room. “Fine! I’ll make you pizza bites but then we’re doing what you came over here to do,” Oliver hissed, dragging Arthur back into the kitchen area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur was finally let go, he sat himself on the kitchen counter, kicking his feet while watching Oliver dig through the freezer. Oliver was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair a mess, that made Arthur feel a little better. <em>He</em> was still wearing his work outfit, jeans, a black polo with his nametag, and a hoodie. He figured that he could borrow some of Olivers clothes since he didn’t have time to change. <em>(That was a lie, he spent an hour and a half laying on his bed scrolling through Instagram.)</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver finally found the box of frozen pizza bites, angrily yanking them out and then fishing for a pan in one of the cabinets. “Where’s your parents at?” Arthur spoke, his voice cracking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver violently threw all of the frozen pizza bites onto the tray and shoved them in the microwave. “They’re out of town right now, you should know this,” he mumbled. Right as he was about to press go on the microwave Arthur jumped off the counter and yelled at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing? That’s a metal pan! Are you trying to blow a hole in the side of your house?” His glasses nearly fell off his face, Oliver jerking at the reaction in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared dumbly at Arthur then looked at the pan, “oh yeah… I <em>knew</em> that!” He scowled at Arthur, “I was just messing with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur scoffed, “okay, yeah sure.” Oliver throws the pan into the oven, and they both sit up on the counter for thirty minutes, bickering back and forth. They talk about tv shows, Law &amp; Order episodes, school, and then they show each other funny videos on their phone for the rest of the time. Finally, the oven goes off and Arthur runs over to it, opening it and grabbing at the food before Oliver stops him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dumbass, get the oven mitts!” Oliver pushes him away, growling when Arthur doesn’t do what he says and instead grabs a towel, wrapping it around his hand and grabbing the pan. “Okay let’s go! I’ve been working on this thing for hours now, and I did all of it without you so you’re gonna come in here and appreciate it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur is about to make a comment about not putting the pizza bites into a bowl but he has no time to do it as Oliver is dragging him towards his room once again, with a burning tray of food in his other hand. Oliver kicks open his door, tossing the tray of food onto his bed and comically throwing up his hands to showcase the entire wall of his room he’s destroyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur just gawks up at the wall, at a loss for words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty cool right?” Oliver grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oliver, you’re fucking <em>insane</em>.” There was a whiteboard pinned up on his wall, stacks of newspaper articles and notes thumb tacked all over the place. A red marker was taken to each group of papers, drawing lines to and fro, circling random pictures and paragraphs. It wasn’t just on the whiteboard though, clearly Oliver needed more room. He moved on to the wall, tacking on even more papers, and when he ran out, started taping stuff up instead. It was the lair of an absolute madman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s where you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oliver led his best friend over to a beanbag across from the wall, pushing him into the chair and throwing the pizza bites onto his lap. Arthur hissed as the metal touched him, burning his thighs, he quickly threw it off and took only the food. “See, I’ve been researching, been looking up police reports and autopsy reports. See there’s all these people who have gone missing, been murdered, yet the news and the police keep justifying them as muggings. But they’re wrong. They haven’t connected the dots, I <em>have</em>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur just watched in awe, intrigued by the absolute manic energy happening. He ate the pizza bites like they were popcorn, and he was watching a movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here!” He runs to the far left of his room and points at a picture of a dark skinned man in an alleyway. “Cletus Jones! He was the first one who started this chain of murders, stabbed to death in an alleyway. Thirty-two stab wounds!” Oliver ran over to the other side of the room, pointing to a picture of a woman now, “Jaime Lynn! The second supposed mugging. Stabbed to death behind the starlight theater, twenty stab wounds. And then the next few murders, Richard Big, a cowboy, he got caught on his way home from a bar. Once again, stabbed, twenty four times. Barbara Lavernor stabbed seventeen times. Owen Carvour is a special case!” Oliver pointed to a picture of a dark raven haired man who looked oddly similar to Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, he’s handsome,” Arthur commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver rolled his eyes, “Owen Carvour was a Brit, not from Hatchetfield. He’s special because he was pushed out of a window, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they think.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The funny thing is none of the cops thought to check the room he had fallen from. Either way by the time they found him, he had twenty six stab wounds. Are you seeing the pattern?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nodded along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Autopsy reports claimed that the stabbings occurred </span>
  <em>
    <span>post-mortem.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oliver grinned as if he had discovered the cure for cancer, waiting for a reaction from Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shoved two more pizza bites in his mouth, “okay, so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned, “post-mortem means it happened after the victim was killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shrugged, “cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! That could only mean that either the murderer pushed Owen out of a window and then stabbed him, which wouldn't make sense, the man’s already dead. Or! Or the murderer found him after he had already fallen, broken and bloody on the ground, and then stabbed him. I don’t know about you but falling thirty stories from a hotel window would most definitely kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur tilted his head, “okay. That’s interesting but what does that mean? Like what’s the point of him doing that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Oliver almost laughed, he was starting to sound a lot like his uncle Henry. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur squinted at him, “okay-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever did it made a fatal mistake! You see, I did the calculations and well, every single one of the victims, including Grace Chastity-!” his stomach clenched, “-was inflicted with stab wounds! Specifically around twenty and thirty, and below for the smaller victims. All of these people have bled out, violently bled out until they died. And- And Owen Carvours death just proves my theory! Why would you stab someone after they’re already dead? What’s the purpose?, I’ll tell you the purpose!” He paused, watching Arthur stare intently waiting with anticipation. “Organ harvesters!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur cocked his head to the side, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except none of them are missing organs…” Oliver scratched his chin. “Blood harvesters!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur gasped, “they’re taking people's blood? But why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I don’t know, I’m just a high school kid, I’m not doing it. Get your head on straight you dipshit.” Oliver paced back and forth. “But that's the thing, I don’t know why. <em>I don’t know.</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think it’s vampires?” Arthur laughs, then becomes frightened when Oliver actually considers that idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” he ponders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur begins fidgeting with his hoodie strings, he didn’t like that possibility. Vampires were scary, the last thing he wanted to think about was him or one of his friends becoming some scary cloaked dude from the 1940’s private juice box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I don’t think so, now we’re gonna talk about the <em>who</em>,” Oliver threw himself onto the mattress next to Arthur and propped his head up on his elbow. “That’s why you’re here!” He grinned at his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dangit, I thought you were just gonna rant to me the whole time,” Arthur groaned kicking his feet up on the bean bag so he was more comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So who at school do you think would want to kill Grace?” And they shoot ideas back and forth at each other almost all night. They ponder various suspects, but there aren't many people they can think of because neither of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that many people. This goes on for hours and hours, and nobody realizes what time it is until it’s too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shoot, I have to go home.” Arthur mumbled, quickly getting up from his spot on the floor, they rearranged themselves because instead of working they decided to watch a Michael Myers horror movie and ended up moving to the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No stay!” Oliver pouted from his pile of blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur frantically apologized, “I have to go to work tomorrow and I don’t have my car over here so I’ll be late if I stay till morning. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He picked up his phone and clothes that he discarded once Oliver gave him pajamas to wear that were actually comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver got up, pausing the TV screen right as Michael Myers is killing a teenage girl in the middle of one of the neighbors lawns. “But it’s probably gonna rain while you walk home, are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shook his head, throwing his hoodie on top of a sweatshirt. “It’s alright, see? Uhm, that is if I can wear your clothes home…” He fidgeted with his glasses while waiting for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah that's fine! Be careful walking home though, watch out for any ten-foot guys wearing jumpsuits,” he joked, walking his best friend to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s eyes widened at that, making him reconsider, “shut up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver opened the door for him, “I was just joking. But actually text me when you get home so I can fall asleep without having a panic attack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nodded, “yeah, okay.” He walked out into his parents lawn, looking up and down the street. It was so dark outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver waved to him, “okay see you later Arthur. Remember, text me!” Then the door was closed and the anxious teen was all by his lonesome in the wilderness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a few hesitant steps out, his sneakers meeting the cold pavement of the sidewalk. The only thing illuminating his path was a trail of dim street lights that stood what felt like miles apart. Arthur cowered, the light he was currently standing under flickered on and off. He considered calling Oliver and talking to him the whole thirty minute walk home, but when he pulled out his phone the time read 1:00 am and his phone battery was running on one percent. That wouldn’t even last him a minute, and what if there was an emergency? He put his phone back in his pocket, looking every direction until he was sure that it was clear. Then with a shaky exhale, the frightened teen began his walk back home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching Halloween was a mistake, because all he could picture now was that behind every single white picket fence was an eight foot monster waiting for him. Arthur checked over his shoulder again, finding nothing. He was being ridiculous. He knew this. He was still terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to think of other things, he began by shakily humming the tune of a Britney Spears song, that didn’t help, he just felt stupid. Arthur tried to think about their little </span>
  <em>
    <span>investigation</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He didn’t really understand what was going on, but Oliver was passionate about it. Arthur was never great friends with Grace, whenever she was around he kinda felt like a third wheel so he didn’t appreciate her as much. Don’t get him wrong, she was a nice girl! It’s just that Oliver acted differently when she was around. Suddenly going to the movies wasn’t as much fun anymore when your best friend was busy swooning over some chick. Arthur felt like he wasn’t really being seen. And that was bad because he wasn’t ever seen at high school, so the fact that his best friend would disregard him like that didn’t feel great. He was happy though. Oliver was happy, so he was happy too, right? That was of course until now. Now Oliver moped around a lot, he was always at Beanie’s getting more sugar than he needed. He was obsessed with this case, he wanted to solve it so badly. <em>Maybe if he figured it out he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all that mattered, Arthur decided. As long as Oliver was happy, then he was happy. The boy never showed a lot of emotion, he was mostly just a ball of anxiety and demanding orders. He just <em>thinks</em>. He thinks too much. That’s why Arthur knew this Grace thing was a coping mechanism. It made him think, and he liked to think. That’s why it worked so well. This case was impossible to solve by themselves, but if that’s what it took, to solve the impossible, then Arthur was willing to do it. He’d do anything for Oliver. He loved him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sighed, pulling his hoodie around him tighter. It was cold, and he was praying that it didn’t rain before he got home. It was quite foggy out, not Nightmare on Elm Street type of fog, but enough to where you could barely see below your kneecaps. Arthur scanned the neighborhood again, the only sound being his sneakers clicking against the pavement. There were only houses around him, every once in a while there’d be a car parked in a driveway or a few trash cans sitting out by the street but that was it. Bushes lined every house, reaching above Arthur’s head. Every house had a white wooden fence. Everything looked the same. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hatchetfield is awful at designing neighborhoods.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He passed by multiple houses, multiple breaks in the fences between each house that led down a pitch black pathway. If he walked through one of those he would get to his house faster, but it was too dark and his phone was likely dead by now. There wouldn’t be any light. Arthur thought about it each time he passed by one of those dark passages, each time turning down the opportunity. Then as he came upon the next one he really considered it and then- </span>
  <em>
    <span>nope</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He passed it.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Oh well, maybe the next one.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He came upon the next one, slowly creeping up to it and- </span>
  <em>
    <span>nope not that one either</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Arthur groaned. Then the next passageway comes up and- </span>
  <em>
    <span>BAM!</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>Arthur’s on the ground He can’t see. </span><em><span>Oh god he can’t see.</span></em><span> The sound of a trash can lid clatters to the ground next to his head, a moment of hesitation, then it’s picked back up. He thinks there’s glass in his eyes, that’s what it is. Someone smashed a trash can lid over his head and his glasses exploded into his eyes. Arthur whimpered, cowering on the ground and trying to cover his head but it isn’t working and the assault keeps happening. Someone keeps bashing his skull over and over again and by the time they stop Arthur can’t even think straight anymore. He’s sobbing, he knows that he must have a concussion and then he can feel himself being dragged. He’s not that heavy but whoever it is is struggling, a string of '<em>oh gods</em>' coming from somewhere above him, but that doesn’t matter at this point. Arthur grabs for something, anything but he </span><em><span>can’t</span></em> <em><span>see. He can’t see.</span></em><span> His nails are digging into the cement trying to keep him floored but they’re just peeling off and his hands are shaky, he’s shaky, he can’t focus. His head is bleeding, he can feel chunks of flesh hanging off when he reaches up to touch his face. Now he’s focused on the gaping hole in his lip. He cuts his tongue on a shard of glass. There’s voices, he can’t pick out what they’re saying. </span><em><span>He can’t see.</span></em><span> It sounds panicked. He’s panicking. Arthur’s sobbing again but he can’t form a whole sentence, he’s being dragged. Liquid lightly hits him in the face, at first he thinks it’s blood, but then he smells the rain. It’s softer here, his quivering hands can feel it. Then his body starts convulsing and this is it. He’s dying. His body feels fuzzy. Like TV static and it all hurts so bad. It hurts.</span><em><span> Everything hurts.</span></em><span> He let's out one last desperate sob, no words are forming. Then he can’t think anymore.</span></p><hr/><p>
  <span>Alice and Deb are walking the streets, it's </span>
  <b>4:15 am</b>
  <span> when they decide to leave Deb’s house. Things had gotten a little too out of control and if Alice wasn’t uncomfortable before, she sure as hell was uncomfortable when fifteen other people showed up. The house was overcrowded and it seemed like everyone was having a good time except Alice, and Deb was able to pick up on this <em>thank god</em>. So they left, and now they’re strolling through the neighborhood while the rain pours down on them. It was beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice giggled as she jumped in puddles, kicking up water. This was much more enjoyable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your dad gonna be mad that I’m bringing you home late?” Deb suddenly asks, as if she’s really worried about upsetting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably, I hope not. But he will be,” she sighed. “It’s okay though, I’ll make up something,” Alice reassured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deb nodded. Then she grabbed Alice’s arm and held her back, “what the fuck is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightening flashed, startling them both as they inspected a large dark stain on the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice's eyes widened, “maybe someone dropped their drink?” She hoped she was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain seemed to have washed away most of the stain, but it still had a huge dark outline that led into the grass, it continued down a dim passageway between a pair of houses. The smell of rain suddenly turned sour. It didn’t smell like rain, it smelled like rotting. Deb followed the trail, Alice close behind as the stains led through the grass. One of them pulled out a flashlight to see, and they kept following it until it just stopped. In the middle of the grass. Gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call the police,” Alice harshly whispered. Deb pulled out her phone and dialed ‘<em>911</em>’.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“That was an absolute waste of time,” Sam grumbled. He walked out to his car, the rain drenching his clothing. Joey followed behind him, for once seeming calm. They were both exhausted. The interview with Linda had gone terribly, but by the end of it Sam concluded that it couldn’t have been Gerald. Maybe Linda, but he definitely doubts it. The entire time Linda bickered with Gerald over the phone, Sam could only get a few questions in before everything erupted into chaos. He’d been here for hours upon hours, he wanted to go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both got inside the car, shivering slightly. This storm appeared out of nowhere. “Are we going to the station?” Joey asked, looking up sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam examined the man, he looked exhausted. Sam was exhausted too. He really didn’t know what to do with Joey, the man had been with him all day, it felt unfair to just leave him out in a thunderstorm like this. He sighed, “no. Do you have anywhere you could go? A house, apartment or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey shakes his head, “I’ll just sleep in the dumpster tonight.” Sam grimaces at that, oh well, there’s no way he was going to let the homeless man sleep in <em>his</em> house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool, I’ll drive you back downtown then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey lights up at this. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound being the rain pelting their car. It was soothing. Then of course the man next to him had to ruin the silence by popping open the glove box and looking through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah <em>woah</em>, what the fuck are you doing?!” Sam slapped his hands away, reaching over to close it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bored.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam growls, “I don’t care, don’t touch my shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The radio clicked to life, his walkie buzzing and staticky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>10-54 </span>
  </em>
  <span><em>then a whole bunch of numbers were spat out</em>. At least they were just a whole bunch of numbers to Joey. Sam listened intently, and then sped off towards the location. The car screeched, skidding through the wet streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey looked startled, “where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam focused on the road, eyes boring into the foggy air ahead. “There’s been another murder.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm very upset about this.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just know I cried multiple times while writing this chapter, second half will be posted soon</p></blockquote></div></div>
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